


How Can I Trust You? (Now a chaptered fic)

by Cinder7storm4



Series: Trust is Worth More than Love to a Stilinski [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Argent & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Stiles, Cuddling, Dead Claudia Stilinski, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, For the most part, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Nightmares, Pack Dynamics, Pack Family, Protective Chris Argent, Protective Derek Hale, Protective Pack, Protective Peter Hale, Protective Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Secret Crush, Secrets, Self-Conscious Stiles Stilinski, Self-Esteem Issues, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out, Sheriff Stilinski is a Good Parent, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Spark Claudia Stilinski, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Has Issues, Stiles Stilinski Has Nightmares, Stiles Stilinski Has Scars, Stiles Stilinski Has Secrets, Stiles Stilinski Has Self-Esteem Issues, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Hale Pack, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Pack, Stiles Stilinski's Name is Mieczysław, Stilinski Family Feels, eating issues, magical beings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:01:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 48,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21604147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinder7storm4/pseuds/Cinder7storm4
Summary: Stiles lies a lot. His perfect facade begins to crack. Will his friends and family step up to save him or will he simply save himself and them along the way again?This work was originally a series and since it has come to my attention that some fans have chaptered it and intend to rerelease it, I've done that myself.Please do NOT repost my works sans permission.**Series originally posted: 2018-07-01-2018-08-14
Relationships: Allison Argent & Stiles Stilinski, Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Chris Argent & Stiles Stilinski, Claudia Stilinski/Sheriff Stilinski, Erica Reyes & Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey & Stiles Stilinski, Melissa McCall & Scott McCall, Melissa McCall & Sheriff Stilinski, Melissa McCall & Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski, Vernon Boyd & Stiles Stilinski, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Series: Trust is Worth More than Love to a Stilinski [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1160987
Comments: 6
Kudos: 361
Collections: Teen Wolf





	1. How many times, Mica?

**Author's Note:**

> It has come to my attention via a lovely commenter that a fan has decided to compile my works into a chaptered story. When I originally started writing this story, it was a series and by the time it evolved into something so obviously connected I didn't want to go back and get rid of the amazing comments from the original posting, so I continued it as a series until then end and then wrote my sequel. 
> 
> In light of recent events, I've decided to repost the series as a chaptered fic rather and figure out what to do with the original. So, in the meantime, both the series and the fic will be on my account. *This does not mean that I have re-betaed my work. I plan to do that at some point, but not now, so yes, there are mistakes (and I am aware). 
> 
> I do not own Teen Wolf.

Stiles could pinpoint the day that his father stopped trusting him. It was eight months before his mother passed away and she’d had an episode. It had been a bad one. One that had ended up with him having a bruised cheek and Claudia being committed to the hospital, to the room where Stiles had watched her breathe her last breath. The Sheriff had been called into the station early in the morning leaving Stiles and Claudia to get themselves together for the day, but given that it was Saturday he hadn’t been too worried. There was nothing for them to do, which was the problem.

When Stiles had made it to Scott’s house after the incident that afternoon he’d lied to Melissa about what had happened. He’d told her that his mom was crying, that she wouldn’t stop, and that he didn’t know what to do. So, Melissa had grabbed her first aid kit and Stiles, Scott was with his dad, and she’d started back to the Stilinski house. But Stiles wouldn’t go inside, until Melissa in her hurry to make sure Claudia wasn’t about to do something drastic or burn the house to the ground tugged him inside.

Claudia had come around the kitchen island that moment and spotted them, her gaze zeroing in on Stiles. She’d shrieked with a fury Melissa hadn’t known her friend capable of and then she’d flung herself at Stiles. Melissa went to shield the little boy who was like her second son, but he’d stepped in front of her, seemingly intent on take his mother’s rage upon himself. Melissa managed to separate them and call for help, the Sheriff’s department relaying the call to John who’d sped over to the hospital.

By the time John arrived Stiles was sitting still, unnervingly so, in a room while Melissa tried to coax him into letting her see his injuries. He’d gone to Claudia first to find her under sedation and then found an orderly to point him in the direction of his son.

“ ‘m fine,” whispered Stiles as Melissa came closer again with gauze.

“Stiles, sweetie, you’re not,” Melissa replied, trying to keep the fear and frustration out of her voice, “You’re bleeding, honey, and I need to see why.”

Stiles shook his head, then winced, closing his eyes as the movement seemed to trigger great pain.

“Stiles!” John’s voice was loud, stern, and not all warm and comforting. It made Stiles flinch, full-body flinch that made John’s eyes fill with tears, but he needed his son treated before anything else, “Stiles, you need to let Melissa see. Now,” his tone brooked no argument but he tried to soften it by putting a hand out to cup Stiles’ face when his son actually pushed himself off the examining table away from his father.

John immediately pulled back his hand, palms out, showing Stiles that he wasn’t armed and he stopped moving. The pieces started to click in his head, the bruises Stiles had told him were from rough housing or clumsiness, “Mica,” his voice went soft, almost like a croon, and he squatted down to try appear less threatening, “Mica, please let Melissa see, please.”

Stiles backed into a corner and ducked his head, shaking it, “No, she said I can’t.”

Melissa took in a sharp breath, “Stiles, sweetie, what did she tell you that you can’t have?”

Stiles stayed quiet. Melissa spoke again, voice even softer, “Stiles? Did she tell you that... when she hurt you should keep it a secret?” She took the silence as confirmation. “Was today the first time?” even though she felt she knew the answer she wanted to ask him. Again silence. “Stiles, will you come back to the table if I leave for a bit?” Slowly, so slowly Stiles inched forward as Melissa backed away.

John stayed where he was though and Stiles seemed hesitant to come closer to him. “I’ll sit over here, Mica okay?” John murmured, inching toward a chair by the table. Stiles inched forward again, but he stopped short of climbing back up on the table. He leaned against it instead.

“Mica?” John whispered, “Do you need help?”

Stiles stayed quiet, but he tried to climb up onto the table on his own. As he did so the blood on his shirt became apparent to John who saw the moment Stiles began to slip and he darted forward to catch his son. Stiles fell into his dad’s arms, attempting to twist his face away but John caught his cheek gently. John made himself look at the damage his wife had inflicted upon their son, three long scratch marks stood out bright red from Stiles’ right ear to the middle of his neck. That was nothing compared to the dark purple bruise that decorated the left side of Stiles’ face, “Oh, Mica,” his voice wavered, “How long has this been happening?”

Stiles still refused to speak. John wouldn’t, he couldn’t let it slide, “Please, Mica.”

“Just today,” Stiles’ voice was small, raw, and stubborn.

No matter how many times in the following days that John or Melissa asked him that question Stiles stuck his story that it had only happened once. No matter that the scars on his torso or the bruises on his arms told a different story.

Stiles stuck to his lie.

And that’s where it all began.


	2. Stiles and Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles doesn't know that his Dad fears silence too. Because silence means that Stiles is hiding something or someone that's hurting him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf

“Stiles, for God’s sake be quiet!”

The silence that followed John’s shout was almost terrifying. In the aftermath of losing Claudia Stiles had been quieter for a few days until John had come upon him muttering to himself in his room. Stiles needed the sounds. He needed to talk. If he didn’t talk the voices in his head got too loud.

Silence and Stiles did not mix.

But sometimes, sometimes John just wanted his beautiful, smart son to stop talking. He would imagine it, but he hardly asked for it, because he knew that the only reason Stiles would ever truly be silent would be for a reason that would turn his blood cold. Stiles went silent when he lied. He lied with tangles of tangents too, but the lies that came from his silences were the worst ones. They reminded John of that day in the hospital. They reminded John that he hadn’t protected his son.

But still he found himself frequently drowning in a bottle of whiskey rather than talking to his son.

Stiles took the silence from his father. He knew they weren’t the same. He didn’t know that his father feared silence too, but for different reasons than he did. So, when the order came to be quiet he shut his mouth, he almost stopped breathing.

John looked up at his son from his seat at the kitchen table, taking another swallow of burning alcohol, eyes focused and narrowed. Stiles seemed to shrink in front of his eyes, shoulders hunching, eyes downcast, and hands stuffed into his hoodie pocket in an effort to disguise his fidgeting.

“I can’t talk to you right now,” John’s voice was almost warm then, almost, “I can’t, kid.”

Stiles nodded his head, and then turned around to head up to his room.

As soon as Stiles disappeared John poured himself another drink. He looked at the alcohol in the glass, watching it catch the light, and then downed it in one go. He scrubbed a hand over his face; he wanted to hear Stiles’ voice. He wanted his son to talk, to tell him what was going on, but he knew he wouldn’t so John drank and Stiles stayed quiet, at least for the night.


	3. What the silence reveals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John confronts Stiles about a breakdown that he had after Lydia's party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.

John came home late from his night shift, moving quietly around the house, putting away his gun, and changing out of his uniform. He paused at the top of the stairs on his way back to the kitchen to pour himself a nightcap or two, when he felt the ache in his chest that seemed his constant companion double up. He wanted, no, he needed to check on Stiles so he turned back and went to tap on his son’s door.

He’d heard through the grapevine at the station that the Martin girl was throwing a party and he wanted to make sure Stiles had gone. He wanted to know that his son was doing normal teenage things. He wanted to believe that maybe Stiles was okay, that he wasn’t lying about well, everything.

But when he went to tap on the door, he paused before his knuckles could touch wood. A quiet, sharp sound came from the other side of the door. It sounded again. It sounded like a sob and everything John had wanted to ask about flew out of his head as he slowly opened the door.

“Stiles?”

The sound came again, but it was muffled. John inched into the dark room, trying to locate his son. When he got the desk lamp to turn on he almost wished he hadn’t. Stiles was curled up on the floor on the other side of his bed, a fist in his mouth to muffle his sobs, the other hand wrapped around a picture frame.

“Stiles?” John asked again, no response. He walked over to his son slowly, then crouched down in front of him. He reached out, hand cupping Stiles’ chin to tilt his son’s face up and he almost stumbled back. Stiles’ whiskey coloured eyes were full of unshed tears and the whimper of fear he had let out when John had tipped his head had sounded so afraid. John hadn’t heard Stiles make a sound like that since that day in the hospital.

“Stiles, what happened?” John’s voice dropped lower, keeping his tone soft.

Stiles opened his mouth but instead of an explanation he croaked out two words, “I’m sorry.”

The moment he spoke it seemed that he’d opened up a dam and soon a litany of apologies tumbled from Stiles’ lips and no amount of soothing from John could get him to calm down. He watched, helpless, as his son worked himself into a panic attack. These at least John had dealt with before, sparingly but he had dealt with them. He tucked Stiles against him and rubbed his son’s back, helping Stiles listen to his breathing, to help his son count breaths, to bring him back from hyperventilation.

Even once his breathing evened out Stiles seemed to be unfocused and unaware of the situation. He pushed at his father’s arms, he struggled to extricate himself from John’s embrace but the Sheriff would be damned if he let that happen. Instead he pulled Stiles closer, “Shh, Stiles, it’s me. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry, daddy,” snuffled Stiles even as he stopped struggling, “ ‘m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Stiles,” murmured John.

Stiles almost appeared to laugh, but the sound was harsh and hysterical, “I should tell him,” Stiles’ voice cracked again, “Need to tell him I’m sorry.” He resumed his struggle with John then but the Sheriff kept his grip tight and, he hoped, comforting.

“Who? Who do you need to apologize to Stiles?”

“Dad, I need to tell my daddy, I didn’t mean to ruin it,” Stiles’ breathing was ratcheting up again and John was still confused.

“Stiles, I’m right here. I’m right here with you,” but Stiles shook his head, denying John’s words even as he spoke them.

“No, no, no, wouldn’t be here, not worth it.”

John tried to rein in Stiles again, fighting against the tears in his own eyes then Stiles broke free and scrambled for the picture frame he’d been holding earlier. It was cracked, and broken but Stiles pulled it to his chest and curled around it nonetheless, “I’m sorry daddy. I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough.”

John surged forward again, fighting with Stiles to pry the broken frame from his son and then upon succeeding he scooped Stiles up in his arms. His gaze flicked to the photo in the frame for a moment and saw one from early on in his marriage to Claudia. Tears pricked at his eyes again, but he had priorities, Stiles first.

He brought the murmuring, twisting, crying teen into his bathroom where the boy suddenly quieted. That scared John even more, “Sti… Mica?” he whispered, eyes taking in the scratches from the broken glass that littered his son’s arms and hands. At the sound of his childhood nickname Stiles let out a whimper but he didn’t apologize. John counted it as a win. He flinched internally at what counted as a win in his books at the moment.

He wanted to kill whoever had made his Mischief feel like this; he wanted to throw them in a cell and watch them rot away. But Stiles was his priority, so as his son whimpered, tears falling steadily from his eyes again John carefully cleaned his cuts and wrapped them. Eventually, Stiles went quieter again, his whimpers only happening every so often, but his eyes, they were still unfocused. John went to pick Stiles up again when another sob ripped through Stiles’ body,

“Mica?”

John hated this. He hated feeling helpless. He hated knowing that his Mischief was hurting and all he wanted to do was wrapped his son up in a soft blanket and cuddle him until he fell asleep. But first, he needed answers. He carried Stiles over to his bed and sat his son down, “Mica, what happened?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, dad…” slipped out from Stiles’ lips again.

John wanted to shush him, to tell him that there was no reason for him to feel sorry, but he needed answers so he took the bait, “What are you sorry for Stiles?”

“I… ruined it.”

“Ruined what, Stiles?” John kept Stiles curled up against his chest, wiping at the tears his son seemed unaware of shedding.

“Ruined it, ruined dad’s life by being a hyperactive little bastard, sorry, I’m so sorry,” Stiles spoke as if he was unaware that John was even in the room, and that disassociation worried John more than his son’s earlier behaviour if that was even possible.

“Who, who told you that?” John couldn’t help the tightening of his grip on Stiles or the steel that entered his voice. He wanted names so that he knew how many graves to dig three towns over.

“Mom, then dad, but doesn’t matter, I don’t matter,” muttered Stiles, eyelids starting to droop with emotional exhaustion, “Just leave me here.”

“Stiles,” John shook him slightly, “What do you mean?”

“Don’t wanna worry my dad, don’t want him to hate me more,” Stiles was drifting now and with a final utterance his body seemed to demand sleep, “He blames me. I killed her.”

The limp form of his son stayed wrapped up in his father’s arms all night, but John was unable to sleep. All he could do was run through Stiles’ words in his head over and over. He wanted to cry, he wanted to punch something, break something, but he sat, keeping his son tight to his chest and tried to figure out how to redeem himself.

\--  
The next morning  
\--  
Stiles was slow to wake, which was odd. He rarely slept through a night and even if he did he would snap to attention the moment his body started to wake up. But, he was comfortable, warm even. He was usually cold, always so cold, which was why he actually wore layers and his hoodie as often as possible.

The thing that made him panic was that he was being held. No one held Stiles. No one really even touched Stiles. Sure, sometimes Scott gave him a bro hug, or his dad pulled him away from something by the back of the neck but no one really touched him. If he was lucky and his dad wasn’t drinking, distracted, or angry he might get a hug and those, those filled his heart up for days. He clung to those moments because they made him feel cared about. Hell, he’d gone out for lacrosse with the idea that maybe, just maybe then he’d be able to satisfy his touch starvation with on the field brutality. Stupid. Stupid.

John had been watching Stiles sleep and noticed his son slowly come back to consciousness, but what he should have expected was for Stiles to start talking. Again, he seemed unaware that he was saying things out loud, but John caught enough of his ranting to feel like he’d received another punch to the gut. He’d never consciously set out to keep Stiles at arm’s length, but he obviously had.

Before Stiles could work himself into a panic attack again, John gently shook his son’s shoulder and softly called his name. Stiles whipped around and away from him so fast John thought he’d get whiplash. Stiles seemed to take in that he was in his dad’s room and he scrubbed his hands over his face, talking again, seemingly trying to puzzle out what had happened, “Oh god, dad, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking, it must have been that punch at Lydia’s, I never meant to bother you. God and you were working late,” John had no doubt that Stiles would work himself up into another fever pitch easily so he did what he thought made the most sense. He launched himself off the bed and took Stiles’ hands in a gentle hold, keeping them from scratching at his son’s face or arms, “Stiles, Stiles… Mica!”

That made Stiles pause, his dad hadn’t called him Mica in years, not since that episode with his mom. It was enough to stop him cold. John took a step closer to him, and everything in Stiles told him to step back but he couldn’t. Instead he ducked his head, catching sight of the gauze on his arms for the first time. He was confused. Stiles wracked his brain. He hadn’t wanted to die, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t, not while his dad was alive. It wouldn’t be fair to him.

John inhaled sharply as he heard Stiles admit to contemplating suicide, “Mica,” he said again using his grip on Stiles’ hands to pull his son forward into a tight hug. Stiles cursed his mouth, it really did run on autopilot when he was exhausted. He tried to pull away from his dad, maybe crack a joke, and then figure out what the hell was going on, but his dad wouldn’t let him pull too far away. John reached out to tilt Stiles’ face up to his for the second time in under twelve hours and his son wasn’t fast enough to duck out of his grip.

“Dad, what…?” Stiles saw his dad’s eyes for the first time that morning and where he’d expected frustration or exasperation he only saw something that might just be anger. John wasn’t angry at Stiles, he was angry at himself but his son didn’t know that so Stiles tried to sort things out again, “Dad, I swear I had no idea the punch was spiked okay, I know you’ve given me a hundred lectures about the dangers of underage drinking, and if I did something, which I obviously did, I‘ll make it up to you. I promise. I promise, dad.”

“No, Stiles,” John’s voice was gruff but clear, “You can’t make this better.” John realized how his words sounded the moment he said them and opened his mouth to rephrase them when Stiles’ shoulders dropped and he pulled his chin away from his dad’s grip finally. “Oh, okay… still, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, dad” Stiles bit his lip to stop talking, his mouth had obviously gotten him into trouble last night and now his dad was telling him how majorly he’d screwed up.

“Oh, Stiles,” John whispered, voice not at all angry like Stiles had expected, “I didn’t mean, I meant you didn’t do anything, kiddo. You’ve got nothing to make up for.”

“Yeah, right,” Stiles muttered, “That’s why you’re still here instead of at the station, that’s why you’re still holding me hostage.”

John released him immediately, “I’m not going in today.” He’d called into the station to tell his right-hand deputy to cover his shift, he had leave stocked up and he wasn’t going to leave the house until he and Stiles had spoken properly about whatever had happened the night before.

Stiles’ body language appeared confused and John wondered how long it had been since he’d taken time off to spend with his son. Obviously too long.

“Why not? Are you not feeling well? Do we need to go see Melissa?” Stiles started up again, agitated.

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” John said, “it’s you Stiles.”

Stiles’ head snapped up, panic flickering over his eyes then vanishing into their depths, “Me? I’m fi…”

“You’re not fine. You definitely weren’t fine last night. And you certainly weren’t drunk, Stiles,” John started to work into his own rant but then paused for a breath, “I think we should eat breakfast and then talk.”

He gestured for Stiles to go downstairs and surprisingly, he did, but he was quiet. Too quiet. Stiles barely touched the cereal John poured into a bowl for him. He was too twitchy and jittery. He had no idea what was going on and he was scared. What the hell had he said to his dad last night to make him take time off of work?

When it became clear that Stiles wasn’t going to eat anything, John cleared the dishes and sat back down at the table across from his son, the one person he thought he knew everything about, but obviously he was wrong.

“Stiles, what do you remember about last night?” John asked, his voice open and casual.

Stiles wouldn’t look at his dad though, he remembered the beginning of the party. He remembered the punch and then the hallucination, or rather the memory of his father coming at him with a whiskey bottle.

“I went to Lydia’s birthday party with Scott and we had something to drink, pretty sure she spiked the punch and then after about an hour or two I walked home.”

“That’s it?” John pressed lightly.

There were flashes of something else in Stiles’ memory, tears, broken glass, a picture, him struggling against someone – he tensed trying to remember if something bad had happened to him – but all that kept coming to the front of his mind was the sound of his father yelling at him by the pool. Blaming him for killing his mother and for killing him too. Stiles nodded, jerkily.

“I don’t believe you, Stiles,” John replied softly.

Stiles just stifled a dry sob, of course his dad didn’t believe him, even if this time his distrust was completely justified, “Why don’t you just tell me what the hell I did then?!” Stiles responded, wanting to be angry but really his voice just came out fearful.

“So, you don’t remember having a panic attack last night? You don’t remember how you got hurt?” John pressed again.

Stiles shut his eyes in an attempt to keep himself from crying. Shit, if he’d had a panic attack in front of his dad about the vision or whatever it was at Lydia’s he was screwed. He tried, in vain, to keep his voice steady when he answered, “No, I don’t.”

John got up from the table then and for one moment Stiles thought maybe their talk was over, but then he heard his dad pause upstairs briefly and then return to the kitchen. He had a picture frame in his hands, a broken one. Stiles knew that frame. Damn, he couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d tried.

“Tell me why this photo put you in a disassociated state,” John placed it carefully in front of Stiles who could see where the glass had cracked. Feelings from last night unfolded in his head. His mom and dad looked so damn happy and he’d ruined that.

Against his wishes Stiles’ hands started to shake. John put a hand over Stile’s right hand but the movement was unexpected and Stiles jerked back in his chair. Luckily, based on recent events John had anticipated Stiles’ reaction. His other hand came up to rest on Stiles’ shoulder and kept him in his seat. “Mica?” he whispered, “Last night, you said…”

“Whatever I said dad, I was lying, you tell me all the time that you can’t trust me so…” Stiles started to babble.

“Mica, stop, please.”

But Stiles didn’t want to stop, he wanted to talk until his father yelled, until his father left him. John wouldn’t though, he was done with leaving Stiles to deal with his issues on his own. He pulled Stiles up into another hug, “You weren’t lying” John whispered to Stiles’ forehead as he pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead.

He tugged Stiles gently into the living room thinking that maybe it would be more comfortable for both of them. He steered Stiles to the couch and then sat down next to him. Stiles’ eyes were shut tight, trying in vain to wake up, he wanted this to be a dream. He couldn’t, he couldn’t have this conversation with his dad. “Mica, last night you said some things that scared me,” John started, watching Stiles’ face for signs that he was going to dive into a panic attack again.

Never in a million years had Stiles thought he’d scare his father, make him angry sure, but scare him. God, he really was a horrible son. He ruined everything. It took Stiles’ mind a moment to catch up to the fact that once again he’d run his mouth, in front of his dad. He didn’t know how to fix this.

“This isn’t something you can fix Mica, this isn’t something you broke,” murmured John, voice pained, but yeah, “You were saying stuff like that. God, Mica, why would you ever think that?”

Stiles shrugged, mind still racing, trying to figure out how to get him out of this situation. When it became clear that silence was going to be Stiles’ armour in this conversation John started to speak.

“I came home late last night and went to check on you. You were on the ground, holding that picture, and crying,” he couldn’t keep the pain out of his voice even if he’d tried, “You wouldn’t respond to me at first but then, you started to apologize, over and over,” John swallowed trying to keep his own tears at bay as the whimpers Stiles had made the night before sounded in his head again. “I don’t think you knew it was me, but you kept talking, saying you needed to tell me something, something important.” Stiles stayed quiet, head downcast, and he was unnaturally still.

“You kept talking about ruining something, Mica…” John could hardly bring himself to think the words that Stiles had uttered the night before, about his father hating him and about ruining his life, ‘You got very specific, Mica. I need to know who did this to you; I asked you, and you told me… but, well, I need to hear it from you.”

“Da..” Stiles cut himself off, unsure of whether he still had the privilege of calling his father dad, “I… please don’t ask me to talk about it,” whispered Stiles, so quietly John could’ve easily missed it.

“Stiles, you told me that your mother told you that you…”

“…killed her,” whispered Stiles, in defeat, as he seemed to crumple before John’s very eyes. He pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in knees, refusing to look at his father.

“Stiles, Mica, kiddo,” none of the names got Stiles’ attention, “It wasn’t your fault. She was sick. Kiddo, she was sick.”

“But you don’t believe that, do you?” murmured Stiles, head still hidden from view.

“Stiles…”

“If I hadn’t made her so tired she would have been healthier longer, if she hadn’t had me maybe it never would have manifested itself!” Stiles’ voice rose higher as his whole body seemed to shake then he lifted his head, eyes staring straight at his father, “I know you blame me! I know, you told me! Why do you want to go over all of this again?” Stiles unfolded himself from the couch jerkily, “I know, I know all of this already and I’m sorry my issues disturbed you…” John couldn’t listen to another word. He wanted to bring Stiles in for another hug, but that had only seemed to agitate his son earlier. Instead of a denial, one word came from the Sheriff’s mouth, “When?”

He caught Stiles off guard, “When what?” he kept his arms wrapped tight around his torso, suddenly cold again.

“When did I tell you that?”

Stiles opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. A short silence stretched until he got the nerve to respond, “After, after the funeral.”

John thought he might have his first panic attack. John looked at Stiles, his eyes wide, hurt, and pained, but he had no words yet.

“Dad, I, it wasn’t your fault,” Stiles whispered, inching back to the couch but positioning himself further back from John than earlier, “You were grieving, you were drunk, and I didn’t want to stop talking about her so I get it.”

A sound half way between a sob and a growl emanated from John’s throat, “And you were eight years old, Mica! It wasn’t your fault,” but he could tell his son didn’t believe him, “Mica, please, please listen to me. I do not blame you, anything I said then was bullshit.”

“Fine,” Stiles whispered.

“No, no Mica, it isn’t fine, kiddo…”

“Dad, I don’t want to talk about this, I don’t blame you, I swear…”

“Mica, please, come here. Look at me,” John forced his voice to level out again. Stiles moved forward slowly.

“Your mother loved you. At the end, she wasn’t her, whatever she told you was wrong. Whatever I said to you then was wrong. Mica…” he wanted so badly to hug his son, but he refrained. He knew that there was more to this story, but Stiles kept his eyes downcast and head ducked. Then something clicked in John’s head, “Mica, was that why you didn’t tell me about what she was doing, that she was hurting you?”

Stiles stayed silent, but John had spent enough time about abuse victims to guess at what was going on in his son’s head.

“Mica,” he put a hand out grip Stiles’ shoulder, “You never deserve abuse. Do you hear me?”

Stiles shook his head, sadly swaying it from side to side, “Sure. Are we done here now?” his voice oddly flat.

“No, no we’re not, Mica, please,” John pleaded with him to just look up, to see his father’s eyes, to believe him, “There’s more to this that you aren’t telling me, Mischief, I know there is, please just talk to me.”

“What about you?” Stiles whispered.

“What about me?” John replied, quieter.

“If I didn’t kill mom, aren’t I killing you?” before Stiles even finished talking John had launched himself forward to tug Stiles close, “No, no, no, Mischief. I don’t know how I’d live without you, kiddo. No, no, no.” He pulled Stiles closer, he wanted his son to hug him back, “If I didn’t have you, Mica, I don’t know how I would have managed these past eight years. I swear on your mom’s wedding ring, kiddo. I swear to you; you’re the most important person in my world.”

Stiles was shaking in his dad’s arms, but slowly he hugged back, just slightly, but it brought tears to John’s eyes, “Stiles, this morning, you said you’d thought about, about dying before and I need you to know that I would rather burn the Sheriff’s station to the ground and raze the town than ever have you feeling like that’s an option. Please, please, talk to me, Mica,” John pulled away slightly so that he and Stiles could look eye to eye, “I love you. I trust you. I believe in you. I need you here, with me.”

He pulled Stiles back towards him and they clung to each other while they both cried for everything that had happened.

“I love you, daddy,” Stiles murmured and his dad smiled, tears streaming down his face, “I love you too, Mischief.”


	4. Derek is Cryptic Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sheriff find out about the pack... kind of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf

After their confrontation, their conversation from that morning, John didn’t know how to feel but he could see Stiles’ exhaustion plain as day. So, he held his son close and let him drift off to sleep. The moment he was sure that Stiles was actually asleep John went to the kitchen, he picked up the photo and the broken frame and cleared it from view. He tucked the photo into an album in the living room and after pausing to look at Stiles again before heading upstairs to grab the first aid supplies. He wanted another look at Stiles’ injuries after his son woke up.

John knew he wasn’t fully processing what had happened so much as he was putting Stiles first in his mind, but at the moment he didn’t care if he ever did anything else except keep Stiles alive and happy.

Stiles on the other hand found sleep hard to come by, but he knew how to fake it well. He felt rather than saw his dad leave the room and head upstairs, so Stiles smoothly grabbed his phone from where it had been tossed the night before. It lit up with messages, but before he could read any of them it died. Cursing his luck under his breath, Stiles tried to figure out another way he could contact Derek.

The wolfsbane, that was the only excuse Stiles could come up with for how his dad was acting. A contact high, exposure to the same drug might produce different effects on humans. Oh, his dad was being genuine, just like the hallucination had been, but it wasn’t right. Stiles wasn’t used to being cared for, he was supposed to help take care of his dad not add to his problems. And there was still so much he couldn’t explain even if his dad wasn’t acting out of some sort of drug induced guilt.

Unfortunately, the choice to not explain the supernatural to his dad was taken out of his hands that moment and Stiles didn’t even know it.

John walked into Stiles’ room next, setting down the first aid supplies, deciding to wash the sheets and maybe set things to rights. What he didn’t expect upon entering the room was to find Derek Hale holding Stiles’ pillow, dotted with blood. The man froze taking in the Sheriff, who was unarmed but certainly still a threat.

“You have five seconds to explain yourself, Hale before…”

“I was checking up on Stiles, is he hurt?” Derek gestured the blood spots.

“Why would you be…” John trailed off, he knew it, he knew Stiles knew Derek better than he’d let on. Honestly, the motley crew of characters that had started to crop up around his son worried him a bit.

“Isaac, Erica, and Boyd crashed at my place last night and they were out of,” Derek replied to the unasked question, “They said they’d been at Lydia Martin’s and the punch was…”  
“Spiked,” John finished for him wearily, “with something pretty hard-core too. Are they okay?”

“Yeah, they’re fine, but they were concerned about Stiles. Erica smelled his distress when he left…” Derek trailed off realizing what he’d said.

“Smelled his distress? Are you high, Hale?” John growled at the younger man who stepped back deferentially, “You know what, I don’t care. All I care about right now is my son who just so happens to start getting hurt more frequently when you and your gang of teenagers start making a ruckus in town.”

“With all due respect Sheriff, I can’t. No, I won’t just abandon Stiles.”

“Abandon him? He’s not your friend, he’s certainly not your boyfriend, and I will not have him in danger!”

“He’ll be in danger regardless, Sheriff.”

“Is that a threat?” John crossed the room to stand in Derek’s space, physically crowding him.

Derek’s eyes flicked toward the door where a moment later, Stiles appeared, “Dad! What the hell are you doing?” Any residual sleepiness vanished from Stiles’ body as he rushed to push himself between his dad and the resident Alpha of Beacon Hills. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Derek, but hey, the guy had claws and flashy eyes and his dad didn’t know that. Crowding an Alpha could very well be seen as a challenge even if the challenger was human.

“Stiles!” John tried to pull his son behind him but Stiles stood firm.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles’ voice wasn’t raised but it demanded a response nonetheless.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Derek replied, face expressionless.

“So, you snuck into my room and squared up with my dad?”

“His scent was covered in yours, and I wasn’t particularly paying attention to anything else because I could smell blood, Stiles,” Derek replied, tone slightly anxious.

Stiles made frustrated shushing actions with his hands that obviously did not impress Derek, or John for that matter, the latter almost wanted to laugh at his son’s antics.

“He’s already heard me talk about Erica’s catching your scent last night and we might as well do this now. I brought you something to help flush the residual wolfsbane from your system, it affects you differently from the rest of the pack.”

“Stiles, what the hell is he talking about?”

Stiles was angry though. Derek could feel it fill up the room. The bedroom quickly stank of grief, anger, and anxiety, so he was prepared when Stiles stepped to him, “Get out. Before you do anymore damage.”

“He has a right to know.”

“No…”

“If you were my kid…”

“Well, thank god I’m not, because…”

“Whatever you’re going to say you’ll regret so just stop, Stiles,” Derek growled, his anxiety for his packmate grating on him. He could smell some wolfsbane still in Stiles’ system and he wanted the human to feel better. He wanted to give him any peace of mind that he could and if that meant looping in the Sheriff and protecting John then he was willing to do it.

“Don’t you even try that with me, Sourwolf!”

John had had enough of the back and forth, and let loose with a loud whistle that made Derek wince slightly. It caught both of their attentions, “Whatever it is, I want to know.”

“Dad,” Stiles’ voice cracked, “Dad, it’s fine. You don’t need to…”

The room was overtaken with the scent of Stiles’ fierce protectiveness and love, with an undercurrent of anxiety. When it became clear that John was serious Stiles turned to Derek, “Derek, look, I’m not even pack, how can you want to bring in someone else…” but Derek cut him off, with a growl.

“Who the hell told you that, Stiles? You’re pack just as much as Erica or Isaac.”

Stiles seemed genuinely confused, “But Scott said…”

Derek rolled his eyes, wondering why teenagers made up his pack, “Scott’s being an idiot. Humans can be pack. You are pack. End of discussion,” he cleared his throat and turned to look at the Sheriff with a look of exasperation and a pinch of fondness, “Which means, your dad is too, by default.”

“I’m still utterly confused,” John said, trying to piece together a story from the conversation he’d just heard, “Is ‘pack’ some kind of gang or cult, Stiles?”

Stiles let out a laugh, a short but genuine one at his dad’s question. He looked at Derek, elbowing the gruff man, “Come on, that not inaccurate.”

“Stiles,” Derek huffed, fighting a twitch of his lips at the teen’s words.

“Right, explanation time then?” Stiles, pulled into himself a bit, still feeling out of it and a bit uncomfortable what with all of the truths he’d told his dad just an hour ago.

“Before that,” Derek shook the pillow in Stiles’ direction, “Are you alright?” pointing at the blood stains.

Stiles winced internally, “Yeah, Sourwolf. I’m fine.”

“I don’t understand why you lie when I can sense it’s a lie,” Derek glared at Stiles who suddenly found the carpet extremely interesting, “Alright, let’s go, talk.”

“You know, I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say ever,” commented Stiles as the teen walked toward the stairs, followed by his Alpha and his still flummoxed father.


	5. Explanation Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek, Stiles, and John have a conversation about the supernatural. By then end, John and Derek have a tentative agreement to take care of Stiles, even if Stiles doesn't know it yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf

Stiles’ anxiety spiked as he set foot back in the kitchen, thinking how just an hour or so ago he’d been here with his dad, staving off a panic attack. Derek felt Stiles’ heart rate and breathing increase, and operating more on instinct than anything else reach out to put a comforting hand on the young human’s shoulder. Though Stiles tensed he let the hand stay there, his shoulders relaxing minutely. Before he considered the appropriateness of his action Derek’s wolf decided to push its luck with its packmate and sets about drawing pain from Stiles’ body.

Thin black veins creep up Derek’s arm, and that is the sight the Sheriff is greeted by as he rounds the corner to the kitchen. His son, looking even more fragile than earlier but still so strong, leaning slightly against Derek. The Sheriff clears his throat, and Stiles shakes Derek’s hand off, not looking at either of them as he takes a seat at the table. He deliberately stays away from the seat he occupied that morning, but the moment he chooses his new perch wonders if it’s smart to alienate so many chairs in the kitchen set. If these revelations continue happening he might need to just pick a chair that’ll forever be his “oh, shit, I’m sorry” spot forever and always.

Derek leans on the counter, to the left of Stiles, keeping himself casually between the Sheriff and his son. The separation is not lost on the Sheriff, but it is on Stiles, who looks like he’d give anything to be anywhere else at the moment. John, sighs internally, then settles himself in the chair to the left of Stiles and starts asking questions, “You were drugged last night?”

Stiles’ eyes snap to his dad in confusion, wondering why they were starting there, but he figured he should follow his dad’s lead for the moment “Kind of.”  
“Yes.”

Derek and Stiles spoke at the same time, and when Derek glared at Stiles the human only rolled his eyes, “It’s not the same for me as it was for the puppies.”

“You were still drugged, Stiles.”

“With what?” cut in John, in an effort to prevent Stiles from going after Derek’s wording and avoiding his father’s queries.

“Wolfsbane,” replied Derek curtly, “It’s a flower. It can cause everything from headaches to death. Whatever you were all dosed with last night was laced with something that prompted hallucinations and dulled the fatal effects considerably, thankfully.” He spoke mainly to Stiles, not that he didn’t want to have this conversation with John, but Stiles was his priority.

“Death?” John repeated, the word echoing in his mind. He could have lost Stiles last night. Death.

“Yeah, but I’m not dead so I’m fine, Dad.” Stiles responded, eyes focused on a spot just beyond John’s right shoulder.

Derek growled low in his throat. Stiles casual dismissal of his poisoning made him and his wolf furious. He had no idea how to make Stiles see what he was worth, but he wanted to help the human so badly. “Don’t you start,” sighed Stiles, some of the fight bleeding out of him as he slumped lower in his chair.

“Stiles, you don’t have…”

“What you have. I know. I am damn well aware of that, Derek!” Stiles’ voice was sharp, but sad too.

“What do mean by that, kiddo?” John asked, voice going quieter, “Does this have to do with whatever the pack thing is?”

Stiles scrubbed his hands over his face then turned to look his dad in the eye, “Dad, there’s something I haven’t been telling you. Remember,” Stiles’ breathing stuttered, but he shrugged off the comforting hand Derek offered him, “remember the night I found the dead body in the woods?” John nodded, confused but determined to stay silent until he no longer could, “Well, Scott was there too. And he was bitten by something, at the time we didn’t know what it was,” Stiles held up a hand to stop his dad from jumping in, “Eventually, we,” Derek huffed in disbelief, “Fine, I, I figured out that Scott had been bitten by a werewolf.”

John blinked, once, twice, three times. His forehead creased as he tried to process the words coming out of Stiles’ mouth, but then there was that word, “Werewolf.” It echoed around in his skull. His first reaction was to laugh, or scoff, but just as he was about to do so he looked closer at his son. Stiles could lie with the best of them, John knew that, but when his son told the truth there was no mistaking it. His eyes would lighten just a touch as if telling the truth lifted a weight off of him and he would look his age, just for a moment. He looked that way now. John stifled his scoff and met his son’s eyes squarely, “Tell me everything.”

Stiles blinked. Anger. Derision. Amusement. He’d been expecting those emotions, but a demand for more information and what looked almost like belief in his father’s eyes, no, Stiles had never expected that. John cursed himself internally as his son’s eyes flared with surprise, then hope, both emotions quickly tamped down by the logic in Stiles’ brain no doubt. When was the last time he’d listened to his son? When was the last time he’d told him he believed him and meant it? John didn’t know and it scared him more than he’d like to admit.

Derek had watched the exchange with interest, keeping one ear attuned to Stiles’ heartbeat and another on the Sheriff’s movements. He could feel the hope rolling off of Stiles in waves, hope that his father might believe him, might not regret him, and might, just might still love him at the end of this conversation. The anxiety and insecurity interwoven with his packmate’s hope made Derek’s wolf whine in discomfort, but he held himself back from indulging in his wolf’s wishes to cuddle Stiles. This conversation was important, and after all, Stiles might be pack, but he was certainly not Derek’s. Stiles belonged to no one.

At his dad’s words Stiles launched into the story from the beginning, occasionally allowing interjections from Derek until technically they were both telling one story together. By the time they reached the topic of the night before and Lydia’s party, John had ten pages full of notes and questions scribbled down on a spare notebook he kept in the kitchen. Once Derek finished relating how Erica, Boyd, and Isaac had arrived home, not to the train station but to his newly procured loft, because Stiles had been adamant that they get proper living quarters, completely out of sorts there was silence.

Stiles waited for his dad to laugh, yell, cry, or maybe all three, instead he simply closed up his notebook and met his son’s head straight on, “I believe you.”

The bottom dropped out of Stiles’ world. Derek casually stepped away from the counter to support Stiles’ chair from toppling backward and the flinch the young man hadn’t been able to hide at his father’s words. Derek was furious that such a small phrase could hold so much meaning for Stiles, who he’d learned to trust even before he tolerated him; Stiles who had done everything to keep his father, his friends, and even his goddamn enemies safe. Stiles recovered from his disorientation quickly, making a show of adjusting himself in his chair, which was now gripped tightly and securely by Derek, when had that happened?

“I mean, sure, Derek’s here, he can show you…?” Stiles, started to ramble, unable to completely process his dad’s words.

“I wouldn’t mind, seeing it in person might help, but Mica,” John inched a hand slowly over to where Stiles’ fingers were tapping on the table, “I believe you.”

“Why?”

The word was out of Stiles’ mouth so fast he couldn’t catch it. He regretted it the moment he said it, watching his dad’s face fall then right itself, but at the same time Stiles needed to know.

“Because I wouldn’t before. Because I was scared. Because I don’t want to lose you to the monsters that inhabit this world and have you think I don’t trust you.” John spoke slowly, honestly, and clearly. Derek could sense the truth of his words, but Stiles, he was still so unsure. Yet, he nodded anyways. Derek and John shared a look over his head, one that communicated that they both knew what Stiles was thinking and that they would do something about it, but not now.

Derek then stepped back from Stiles’ chair, and leaned back against the counter, drawing John’s eyes, “Just the beta shift first, Der,” Stiles asked, plainly trying not to terrify his dad. Derek happily compiled, face morphing into his beta shift, watching John’s hand twitch towards his gun and then away. Derek then smirked slightly, and went for full shift. That sent John from his chair, and forward, in an attempt to step between Stiles and Derek, but his son stood and put his hand out to stop his father from stepping forward.

“Der, go change,” Stiles ordered the werewolf, who ambled out of the kitchen to grab a change of clothes from Stiles’ room. The human had demanded a change of clothes from each pack member early on in their exploits, so that he could keep a set on reserve for those nights when werewolves tumbled through his window, bleeding, naked, or both, “Dad, it’s okay.”

“Stiles, how can you be so calm?”

“He’s a human in a pack of wolves, he’s either crazy or has a death wish, of course he’s calm,” snarked Derek in the doorway, clad in sweats and a Henley, the alpha tipped his head, “Or maybe both.”

Stiles glowered at the wolf, who shrugged and settled into the chair to the right of the one his human had vacated. After a beat, the Sheriff sat down too, as did Stiles. “I have questions for you,” John pointed at Derek, “And both of you, but right now, all I’m concerned about is this thing last night.”

“They were poisoned essentially,” Derek stated, “I don’t think Lydia was the one to do it, at least not on purpose, but what’s important is that while the wolves have flushed it from their systems,”

“Accelerated healing” interjected Stiles, and Derek fought the twitch of a smile at Stiles’ easy handle on the supernatural.  
“Humans who were affected can suffer effects up until 48 hours after the event.”

“Is Allison okay?” Stiles asked, worry in his tone.

Derek only just resisted rolling his eyes, of course Stiles would ask about Allison before thinking of himself.

“I saw her this morning, at Lydia’s, I gave them both some antidote, because I knew you wouldn’t let me give you any if I hadn’t seen to them first.”

Stiles squirmed slightly under Derek’s gaze, but he wouldn’t look away, “Well, they’re important. Allison’s a hunter, who if we can get her out from her crazy grandfather’s clutches can help protect the pack! And well, Lydia, we don’t know what she is yet, but she’s something!” Stiles was passionate about protecting the pack, even if up until this morning he’d thought that he wasn’t really part of it. Derek’s wolf preened at Stiles’ passion for protection but it worried Derek that Stiles didn’t see himself as a priority. He saw John shift out of the corner of his eye, and Derek sent him the tiniest of head shakes, now was not the time to deal with Stiles’ extensive self-esteem issues.

Wordlessly, Derek pushed a small bottle of purplish liquid over to John, who examined it without picking it up, “This is the antidote. It’ll run through your system quickly, basically triggering the remainder of the wolfsbane in your system to react and burn out,” Derek looked at Stiles as he spoke, “The pack talked about hallucinations last night. This will probably trigger more of whatever happened, so you need someone with you,” Stiles opened his mouth to protest but John interjected before he could, “I’ll be here with him.”

Derek nodded, then stood, “Stiles can get you my number and address. I’ll be happy to answer any questions you have that he can’t answer, Sheriff. And if I can’t answer them I’m sure my newly resurrected uncle will put himself to use.”

“Don’t be too hard on Peter,” Stiles whispered, “He was crazy.”

Derek patted the human on the shoulder, “Yeah, I know,” then giving into his instincts as alpha he pulled Stiles up into a hug that allowed him to scent the young man. Though the tinge of wolfsbane in Stiles’ system still irritated his nose there was still something just so Stiles-esque about his scent. It made Derek happy.

“Erica’s going to call you tomorrow; don’t forget to charge your phone,” Derek said to Stiles as he walked to the door, nodding at John meaningfully. The implication was clear, he was trusting John to not screw this up.

“Not going to use the window?” Stiles’ half-hearted joke landed, but he still felt on edge. It was weird to have Derek here, scenting him – he’s sure that was scenting – and talking to his dad about the supernatural. It was all so weird, and domestic.

“Not today,” Derek replied, smiling slightly and then he vanished, closing the door behind him.


	6. Twelve crackers and a glass of water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and John talk. Well, Stiles talks, John cries, and then Stiles cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do now own Teen Wolf
> 
> *The drug use tag is about the wolfsbane.
> 
> **I'm definitely swerving away from canon in this series.

Stiles turned back to his dad slowly, wondering if this had all been some kind of wolfsbane induced dream. Discretely Stiles ticked off his fingers behind his back, counting to ten three times, reassuring himself only slightly that this had been real. That didn’t make it better, because to be frank honesty scared the hell out of him. He didn’t know what his dad would say now that Derek was gone. He stayed quiet, angling himself to stand more to the opposite side of the table from his dad, keeping the chair between them.

It was a reflex in Stiles, to keep things between himself and others and for so long he’d woven an extremely complex tapestry of lies that had hung thickly between himself and his father. Their conversation had started hacking at the tapestry’s binding threads and it made Stiles feel like he too was unravelling along with the lies.

John assessed his son as he stood and almost instinctually shifted to the right, keeping them separate. The movement however slight and reflexive felt like a knife to the heart to the Sheriff, but he needed to keep his head for Stiles’ sake. He wasn’t going to break down for Stiles’ sake.

Stiles needed him.

Stiles needed him because he had been poisoned.

Stiles had been poisoned.

Stiles was in danger.

Stiles was consistently in danger.

Stiles ran with werewolves.

Stiles didn’t heal like they did.

Stiles had almost died before.

Stiles had been drugged and hurt, and if John hadn’t checked on him last night he never would have been any the wiser.

As those thoughts whirled through his mind, John casually took a step away from the entrance to the kitchen and away from the table, giving Stiles space. He nodded at the antidote on the table, “I’d rather you start getting better sooner, rather than later, son.”

Stiles’ eyes snapped back into focus and he nodded jerkily, although he was obviously uncomfortable with the thought of what the antidote might bring forth in his mind.

“Do you… Could you eat something before you take it?” John tried to ask casually, but his worry obviously bled into his tone. Stiles nodded, “Sure, pops,” his voice sounded hollow and light, but he grabbed some crackers and a glass of water, moving on autopilot in the kitchen.

John wanted to protest that twelve crackers was hardly enough food for him, let alone Stiles, but he held his tongue. The only sound in the room the snap of the crackers as Stiles devoured them in quick neat bites and his dedicated swallows of water.

When he finished, Stiles reached out for the bottle of antidote and pocketed it. Then, without a word made to walk upstairs. John reached out to catch him by the arm, “Stiles, you shouldn’t do this alone. You heard Derek.”

“Dad, I don’t, I can’t do this with you. If what Derek said is true, and he doesn’t lie to me on principle, it’s going to be bad. I don’t want you to see me like that,” murmured Stiles, his voice cracking.

John tugged, lightly on Stiles’ arm, making his son turn to face him, but Stiles kept his head down. “Stiles, I need to know. I need to know the extent of this, son. Please, Mica, let me in.”

Stiles wanted to shake his head, tear his arm away, and run upstairs. He wanted to scream, cry, and punch walls. He didn’t want to watch his dad lose respect for him because he was weak. He didn’t want to watch his dad’s face close off. He didn’t want to lose his dad.

Without realizing it, Stiles had started to ramble and sob at the same time, but somehow his dad had got them moving, up the stairs, past Stiles’ room and into John’s. By the time the Sheriff plucked the vial of antidote from Stiles’ hoodie pocket his son had worked himself into a panic attack. So, John pulled him close, and helped him through it, antidote safely on the side table. He was more determined now than ever to get Stiles to talk to him before he took the antidote.

As spots receded from his vision and his world expanded from the pinprick of absolute panic it had shrunk to, Stiles realized he was upstairs in his dad’s room, being half-restrained, half-hugged by his dad. He wanted to protest, at least part of him did. He wanted to refuse to answer his dad’s questions, but a smaller part of him whispered that it might do them both some good.

John could feel Stiles coming back to himself and becoming aware of the situation. He braced himself for a struggle, but none came. Instead, Stiles’ body sagged slightly, almost collapsing against his dad, seeking comfort, warmth, and reassurance, three things John was all too happy to provide. “Mica, you don’t have to answer my questions now, but I’d really like you to,” murmured the Sheriff, keeping his arms tight around his son, anchoring him.

“Okay,” the sound was so soft, John might have never heard it if they weren’t so close at the moment.

Slowly, gently, the Sheriff turned Stiles around so that he could lean against the headboard, and face out, the door still in his sights. John settled himself next to Stiles, sitting so that they could make eye contact and he could tug his son into his arms when the situation called for it, because he’s sure it will.

Stiles closed his eyes as his dad settled him on the bed. He couldn’t believe he was going to do this. He really wasn’t sure he could do this. But he no longer had the will to lie in a way that would allow for his tapestry of deceit to escape mostly unscathed. He could almost imagine that he could feel the wolfsbane poison in his veins now, his heartbeat loud in his ears, and the whispers of what happened last night lurked at the edges of his mind like hungry, feral wolves waiting to be fed.

There was silence in the room as John tried to get his thoughts in order, but he could see Stiles’ anxiety creeping toward a spike again so he just went for it, “Was it a hallucination?”

“From last night?” Stiles asked, voice quiet, “It was…” he didn’t know how to phrase it so that he could be truthful, totally truthful, “It was a hallucination in the moment, but it was, it was based on a memory.”

“Can you walk me through it?” John responded after a beat of silence, heart clenching at the resignation in his son’s voice. Stiles bit his lip, unsure of where to start or how to break into what would end up being a very painful revelation for his dad.

“Start at the beginning, Mica,” John put out a hand to rest upon his son’s fidgeting fingers, “Piece by piece, just like we used to.” That phrase brought a lump to Stiles’ throat, because before, before all of this, before his mother had died, his dad had recognized his innate curiosity and blatantly encouraged it with games. John would present Stiles scenarios, watered down versions of cases he’d worked before coming to Beacon Hills, and then step by step they would piece them back together.

“Okay,” Stiles choked out the sound, then cleared his throat, “Scott and Allison were inside having some sort of disagreement and I didn’t want to be their go-between again so I left the house. I went out onto the back deck where the food and drinks were set up by the pool, and poured myself something to drink,” while he spoke Stiles’ breathing evened out more, the systematic recitation of facts calming his anxiety, but then it spiked suddenly, “I swear I had no idea there was anything in it. I totally figured if Lydia was going to have alcohol somewhere she’d keep it hidden or at least away from me, because she knows I’d tell you.”

“I believe you, Mica,” John soothed his son, his words not causing such an intensely visceral reaction as earlier, “Keep going.” Although he was interested in a number of things from Stiles’ story, how often was Stiles held between Scott and Allison? Was Allison friendly to Stiles only because of Scott? Why was Scott not at the house as often as he used to be, even though Stiles had helped his through his werewolf acclimation period? But, he decided those were questions for another time so he locked them away in a compartment in his brain built for questions about Stiles and continued listening to his son.

“I was just standing around, by one of the pillars on the patio when…” Stiles’ fingers curled into the bedsheets, gripping them tightly and John braced himself for the coming revelation, “I heard yelling. I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from at first, but then… Dad,” Stiles’ breath caught but he pressed on, “It was the memory of the night we buried mom.”

John’s breath caught then, because he remembered what Stiles had reluctantly told him earlier that morning, “It’s okay, Mica, you can tell me. I love you. I’m not mad at you. I love you,” John pulled Stiles close to drop a kiss on his head, taking a moment to just curl around his son and feel like he could protect him even if he hadn’t up until this point in his son’s life, “It was me, wasn’t it?” John spoke softly, Stiles still curled up against him, “The yelling.” Stiles nodded into his chest, “I was drinking, wasn’t I?” Stiles nodded again and then let the memory wash over him as he quietly repeated the words his dad had thrown at him so often years ago when the whiskey overtook him and he grew bitter. John cried, silently, as Stiles spoke, his voice just above a whisper, but when Stiles halted for a beat then rushed through the end where John threw the whiskey bottle at Stiles and he just stood there, rooted to the ground, John heard himself gasp aloud and grip Stiles tighter.

Stiles was crying too now and John just kept him close, rocking him, wondering how in the name of all that was demonic and holy he could ever, ever make this up to his son.


	7. Taking the Antidote

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles takes the antidote. Sheriff Stilinski resolves to do better for his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.

Eventually, Stiles’ tears dried, but he clung to his dad. He was so afraid that his dad would walk away. He couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t, not after everything that had happened.

John clung to Stiles, part of him wanted to keep them there in that moment forever so that he could watch over and comfort his son like he was meant to as a father.

Stiles went to pull away from his dad, still somewhat convinced this was all a dream. His dad’s arms tightened instinctively around him as he made to leave the circle of comfort they provided. Instead of speaking, John simply pulled Stiles closer and nabbed the antidote at the same time, offering it to him. Stiles took the small bottle, rolling it between his fingers for a moment.

“Da... Dad. I don’t know what it’s going to show me, but please, please don’t leave, okay?” By the time Stiles reached the end of his plea his voice was practically a whimper. John wanted to just shush him and keep him close, but he knew his son. Stiles needed words; silence was the enemy here. Silence wounded Stiles just as much as claws and fists.

“I’ll be right here, Mica. Always.”

Stiles didn’t look at him, but just nodded, then downed the antidote. The moment he swallowed Stiles could feel it working. It burned down his throat and he felt sick. Stiles jolted as memories seemed to bleed through from his mind to his entire body. He couldn’t see or hear his dad. He was alone. The world went dark.

John had to hold himself back from dialling 911 the moment Stiles swallowed the antidote. His son’s body went taut in his arms and then somehow he found the strength to curl up, angled away from John. Fresh tears were already streaming down Stiles’ face and he appeared completely unaware of his surroundings. John felt his heart hurt when he thought of Stiles going through this on his own. He had no idea how long his son had suffered the previous night before he’d found him.

So far though, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t dealt with before over the past 24 hours. Stiles’ tears made his heart clench but his son wasn’t speaking, yet. John wasn’t actually sure whether he really wanted to know what else he’d done to hurt his son in the past, but he knew without a doubt that he owed this to Stiles. He owed his son the care, comfort, and protection he’d been denied.

Then, suddenly, Stiles uncurled and stopped crying. It was so abrupt that John was immediately on edge. He thought back to Derek’s brief explanation about how the antidote would work and then his mind jumped to Stiles’ own experience from the party. He’d been living the memory so maybe... John stood up slowly as Stiles moved off the bed, muttering. He was fully in the hallucination, it wasn’t just happening in front of him.

Stiles felt small again. Small like he’d been before his mother had died. Small like when she’d hurt him. Small and defenceless.

Somehow he knew it was light outside meaning he should be up. His dad wouldn’t be home for hours and he had to make sure that when his mother woke up that he was well away from her.

John watched, half heartbroken and half fascinated as he listened to Stiles rattle off a list of things to do before his mother woke up. He’d always wondered how the house had stayed together in the beginning but he’d never had time to ask. It became plain to him that Claudia had been in a bad way for longer than anyone had known. Well, anyone except Stiles.

He had expected every memory to be violent, but as Stiles wandered over to the bedroom door, mouth still listing things that no eight year old should have to worry about: “Hide the knives. No more knives. Don’t care if Dad gets angry later...” John realized that this was the start of Stiles feeling like he was alone against the rest of the world. Somehow this was worse than hearing his son cry.

John crossed the room to stop Stiles from opening the door. He wanted to keep this contained; he wanted to keep Stiles close. As he pressed his palm against the door to keep it closed Stiles cocked his head, and in any other situation John would have teased him about being adorable, but here, Stiles just looked too young and innocent for everything that had happened to him.

Stiles was confused. The door wouldn’t open... why? Then he looked up to see his dad. He blinked and another memory took shape in his mind, whipped into a frenzy by the wolfsbane.

John saw Stiles’ eyes widen then sharpen. “Mica?” he spoke tentatively.

Stiles stumbled back at the name as if slapped. He bit his lip, struggling not to cry. This, he’d asked for it, humming his mom’s favourite song while he made dinner. Inserting his and his Mom’s names into the song. He’d forgotten that his dad had come home between the morning and night shift. He’d forgotten to shut up.

“I’ll be quiet.”

“Why?” John asked, trying to figure out what this memory was about.

Stiles’ eyes narrowed slightly as if suspicious and John could only hope that he was the one getting through to his son and not whatever memory preying on Stiles’ mind.

“Because,” the word hung in the air as Stiles shuffled another half step away, “Because I’m not supposed to use that name anymore... I know, you told me. I know...”

John was at a real loss then. He’d never have taken Stiles’ name from him... had he? It was one of his son’s favourite things about himself. He guarded it like a dragon protected its treasure.

“What did I say, exactly, son?” John kept his voice level, confusion knitting his brows.

Stiles stood straighter. He looked almost at attention. John squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. His son’s stance so at odds with his vibrant personality. He opened his eyes again, Stiles still watching him, but eyes slightly unfocused. This was still the antidote. John somehow found that reassuring.

“Stiles?”

“It was her choice, the name. I’m supposed to let it die with her.”

John had been right. This was worse. Anger he could watch, but this was cruelty in its finest form. What the hell had he been thinking? While he was caught up in his own thoughts Stiles had snapped into another memory.

He sank to the floor, fingers tracing designs into the carpet. John crouched too, situating himself out of Stiles’ line of sight. Then Stiles started to speak.

“Hey mom, I know it’s late, but dad’s working a double and normally I’d be fine but...” Stiles sniffed and swiped a hand across his face. “I asked Scott to come over. I gave him our stupid code word and everything, but he’s with Allison, so... I’m alone.”

John mentally added Scott to the list of people to talk to after this was all over. Stiles needed his best friend, and he hadn’t been there for him. Scott had ignored the code word, which shocked John beyond all else.

The boys never ignored their code word — even when both of them knew they’d catch hell for it they would get to each other if one of them whispered it over the phone or shot it off in a text. When Scott’s dad had threatened him he’d called Stiles. Stiles had literally climbed out his window to avoid his dad and get to Scott in time. But, Scott had ignored Stiles this time, and it had to have been recently. John suddenly found himself wishing he didn’t work so many double shifts so that he could figure out when this had happened.

Stiles was still speaking though, and John knew without a doubt that he was imagining sitting at Claudia’s grave.

“Sixteen isn’t really a big deal, not really, I just thought maybe for a day it’d be nice to feel important. I mean, I know that with Scott being a werewolf and all this tension with the Argents it’s not the best time for a pity party, but hey, it’s ten minutes to midnight and I’ve been 16 for a day. I just wanted to spend my birthday with someone.” Then Stiles made to curl up and seemed to drift off to sleep.

John couldn’t help the pained gasp he exhaled as he watched Stiles sleep, truly sleep. He watched his son choose to curl up beside his mother’s grave to spend his birthday with someone. John wanted to protest, to tell himself that he might be careless, but he’d never forget his son’s birthday.

Except, he had. He could feel it in his bones, because he remembered Stiles coming home in the early hours of the morning, hoodie covered in dirt dust. He remembered yelling at his son about being irresponsible, untrustworthy, and worst of all, uncaring of John’s own worry for him. Stiles had just taken the yelling and John, thinking his son was trying to be smart with him, had grounded him for the next week.

John thought numbly, that he needed to stop thinking he would never do certain things, because obviously he was capable of more than he’d ever thought. His eye caught the clock on his beside table, realizing that it was now the afternoon.

He looked to Stiles who was still sleeping. Derek had whispered to him before he left that this would be the final stage of withdrawal. Stiles would fall asleep, truly asleep, and then awake free of poison.

God, his son had been poisoned.

John moved from his crouch to sit down and lean back against his bed, watching his son sleep. He didn’t care if he was hungry, or tired. Stiles was what mattered. He waited and watched, hating himself a little more as every second ticked by.


	8. Stilinskis Don't Like Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and his dad have more in common than he ever knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf

Stiles woke up slowly for the second time in 24hrs, muscles protesting as he took stock of his body. His eyes blinked open to alert him to the fact that he was currently asleep on carpet, which wasn’t too unusual for him. After spending most of his spare time when his mother was in the hospital by her bedside Stiles had learned to fall asleep anywhere. So, it wasn’t his position or location that gave him pause. It was the colour of the soft carpet, moss green. His mom had loved the colour of this carpet. Stiles had spent hours with her in here when he’d been little, pretending that they were in a forest with fairies and whatever mythical creature had happened to catch his attention in a book.

It took him a few moments to figure out why he was in his dad’s room. Then it all came rushing back, hitting him like a freight train. Even now he didn’t want to look, to see that he was alone, because there was no way he’d been able to reveal the supernatural to his dad. There was no way all of the things flashing through his mind had happened, but he didn’t want to admit that yet.

Thankfully, John could see the gears turning in his son’s head and diverted his train of thought. “It all happened, kiddo. I know, and I believe you.”

Stiles wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but when he sat up and opened his eyes he saw his dad looking so destroyed. There was no other word for it. His dad looked like his world had caved in upon itself and Stiles had done that. He’d done that. He’d ruined things again.

“Stop. Breathe.”

His dad’s voice pierced his impending panic and Stiles could breathe again.

“Oh, Mica. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” John whispered apologies to his son, but couldn’t bring himself to move closer to him.

Stiles wouldn’t stand for that, so he crawled over to his dad, and forcibly tucked himself in bedside John. “If I can’t apologize you shouldn’t either.”

John shook his head fiercely, “That’s not how this works, Mica, but we’ll talk about that too.”

Stiles couldn’t deny that his dad’s words made him feel both anxious and somewhat relieved. “Okay.”   
—-  
A few minutes later Stiles convinced his dad that they had to eat, to which John responded gruffly that he’d eat only if Stiles ate. He nodded and they both headed down to the kitchen where Stiles set about making soup and sandwiches.

John sat at the table and watched his son move. He was graceful in the kitchen, like his mom had been. But John realized something was missing, Stiles’ voice. He was still unnervingly silent.

“Son?” John aimed for casual, but knew his tone was rather desperate instead. He could see Stiles’ back tense then forcibly relax as Stiles tossed out a, “Yeah, Dad?”

“You’re not talking. I don’t mean about today, but not at all and... and I don’t like the silence.” The last half of his sentence came out quieter than he’d intended but the shock on Stiles’ face made him glad he’d said something.

“I just figured, processing, silence, usually a good combination,” Stiles tried to string his words together.

“Not for me. Not for us; we never solve things quietly,” John responded.

Stiles swallowed thickly, touched by his dad’s words, “Well,” he spoke slowly, tentatively, “What do you want to hear about?”

John wanted to hear Stiles talk about anything, absolutely anything just to hear his son’s voice, but he decided to be strategic. “Tell me about these werewolf hunters.”

“The Argents?”

“You expect me to believe you’ve only done research on one family?” John aimed for teasing, and was rewarded by Stiles blushing.

“So, the earliest recorded supernatural hunt I could find was in...” and Stiles was off and running. John listened and took notes when he felt it was relevant, but mostly he just listened. As they ate he peppered his son with questions, awed by everything that Stiles had learned in such a short period of time. Then he chastised himself for being awed, because Stiles had always been fantastic he just hadn’t been particularly observant lately.

Before Stiles could go to clear the dishes the Sheriff did it. Then he turned from facing the sink to look at his son. Stiles fought his instinct to fidget, thinking idly that he hadn’t taken his Adderall today.

“So?” The word hung in the air between them, “How do you want to do this?” Stiles asked, deferring to his dad. John couldn’t believe the respect and love his son held for him even now.

“This isn’t going to be a one time thing, Mica.” John replied, deliberately using his nickname for Stiles, noticing the small flash of happiness that flickered in his son’s eyes. Stiles nodded, humming in response, “There’s a lot to sort through. But I don’t expect you to trust my word on that right now.”

As much as it hurt to say it, John knew he’d broken Stiles’ trust in him and in the Stilinski family trust was worth more than love. “Alright, I understand,” Stiles replied, not refuting his dad’s words. That helped settle John a bit. Stiles hadn’t taken the chance to lie and that made him ridiculously happy.

“As much as I want to start at the beginning, I get the feeling that I should probably get a handle on this supernatural stuff first.”

Stiles nodded, “That makes sense. I’ve got an external hard drive with all my research, but I can totally give you cliff’s notes on anything you want,” John put up a hand to pause Stiles’ words.

“I don’t mean the technical stuff, although we’ll get to that. I mean how’re you doing with it?”

Stiles’ expression made John huff out a laugh.

“What?”

“Mica,” there was that flash of happiness again, “Your best friend is a werewolf, hell, you’re part of a werewolf pack. Which apparently also includes me now. How are you dealing with it?”

Stiles shrugged, “I’m fine,” his dad’s eyebrows rose, unimpressed, “I mean it’s my life now, I haven’t really given much thought to it with all the stuff going on. Scott’s in this so I am too. The rest of pack are important to me as well, so I don’t have another choice.”

Before he could stop himself the Sheriff spoke, “Your mom would be so proud of you.”

That brought tears to Stiles’ eyes again.

“She would Mica. I don’t know how you grew up so good or so loyal, but she would be so proud of you. I guess I’ll have to be proud enough for both of us.”

And Stiles, dammit, knew he was going to cry again. His dad crossed the kitchen to hug him again and he hugged his dad back, fiercely.

“Thanks, Dad.” They separated and John cocked his head toward the living room. Stiles smiled and followed him. They settled down on the couch, ready for a real talk.

“So, Scott was turned by...”

“Peter, who was the alpha and insane.”

“And Peter killed Laura.”

“Yeah, but like I said, he was insane. He and Derek are working on moving past that and the rest of the pack, well, hopefully it’ll come with time.”

“And what do you make of Peter?”

“He’s... hurting. He needs his pack. Werewolves need their packs in a way that surpasses a regular human’s need for touch or interaction. The deprivation of contact with his family and his alpha put him through hell. He deserves a second chance.”

John smiled inwardly at Stiles’ assessment. Then he paused. “Earlier you and Derek told me about ‘meeting’ him in the hospital, but well, you seem to have interacted with him beyond that instance.”

“Well, there was the situation with Lydia at the dance,” John winced, remembering his anger and anxiety from that night.

“And where were you after that?”

“After?”

“I know you, Mica, if you’d had a choice you would have been by that girl all the way to the hospital. If you were there when she was attacked, what happened after?”

Stiles bit at his lips, trying to figure out how to soften the news that Peter had kidnapped him.

“Mica?” John knew his son was trying to figure out how to tell him something without telling him everything. He hated that.

“Why are you calling me that again?” The question came out of his mouth before he thought it through.

John’s face softened, “Because I missed calling you that, Mischief.”

Stiles’ smile was small, but oh, it shone brightly. Then he took a breath and said, “Before I tell you what happened that night I need you to promise me that you won’t hold it against Peter.”

“I don’t like the sound of this,” John muttered, “Okay, I promise, but within reason.”

“Peter kidnapped me. He needed access to some of Scott’s accounts and well, Scott was distracted by Allison so I was the next best choice.”

John had to remind himself of the promise he’d just made his son, because all he could think was he’d spent part of that night telling Stiles how irresponsible he’d been when he’d actually been kidnapped by a psychotic alpha werewolf. John took a few deep breaths, “Did he hurt you?”

“Nah.”

“Stiles.”

“He was crazy, dad. He roughed me up a bit. Werewolves often forget their own strength but he didn’t do anything too bad.”

Then a thought occurred to him, “If he was building his pack, he didn’t... he didn’t bite you did he?”

Stiles swallowed and John knew something had happened, “He offered me the bite. I didn’t take it.”

“And he respected that?” John was intrigued. Sure, his kid was awesome but it seemed to him that having a psycho werewolf respect you even when he has killed others would be quite a feat. Stiles nodded, “I’m happy being human.“

“Does Scott know, about Peter kidnapping you?”

Stiles ducked his head, “Uh, no.”

John cocked his head, then narrowed his eyes, “Does anyone else?”

“No?” It sounded like a question, but John knew it wasn’t.

“Why not?”

“Because life is insane right now. There’s a kanima on the loose and I don’t need,” Stiles cut himself off. His dad waited him out though, “I don’t need to give them another reason to remind me I’m weaker than they are. I don’t need Scott telling me to stay out of things when they affect me too!”

John was quiet for a moment, giving Stiles space after his outburst, “It doesn’t seem like the rest of the pack think you’re weak, son. I know Derek came to check on you, but that seems like what an alpha should do, right?”

Stiles nodded, “I just never brought it up.”

“Okay,” John nodded, “Does all of this have anything to do with Scott not being around as often?”

Stiles rolled his eyes good-naturedly but his smile didn’t reach his eyes, “He and Allison are pretty busy being star-crossed lovers at the moment.”

A memory from earlier flitted to the forefront of John’s mind. Scott wasn’t just busy, he was ignoring Stiles when he needed him. No wonder Stiles hadn’t told him he’d been kidnapped.

“So, recap, Peter was crazy but isn’t any longer. Also, I’m not allowed to shoot him even though he kidnapped you and offered to turn you into a werewolf, right?”

“Also, your bullets really wouldn’t do anything to him. I’ve got some wolfsbane ones; if you need to put down a werewolf or a whole host of other supernatural creatures they’ll do the trick.”

“Where did you get wolfsbane bullets?”

“I made them.”

“Of course you did,” John laughed, “I suppose we should start back up at the range, eh?”

Stiles ducked his head at his dad’s words. John made a leap in logic, “How long have you been back at it?”

“Since September.”

“If you want, I’ll go with you next time.”

“Sure, pops.” Stiles was humouring him, John knew he figured that his dad’s work schedule would intervene but his son had no idea how John was planning to revamp their lives.


	9. Sheets, Harm, and Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets honest. John knows that some hurts don't leave scars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.

The more they talked the more John was reminded of the similarities between himself and his son.

Their curiosity.

Their intensity.

Their drive.

The more Stiles talked the calmer he looked. The more he listened the better John felt.

“I’d like to fix a time to talk to you, Derek, and... Peter. If you don’t mind,” John told Stiles after his son had outlined the six possible creatures he thought Lydia Martin might be. By the end of the conversation, Stiles had narrowed his six ideas down to three with input from his dad.

“Yeah, of course, but...”

“Yes?”

Stiles was still so unused to being believed and included like an equal that he wasn’t sure why his dad wanted him when he spoke with the Hales.

“Never mind.”

“I want you there a) because you’re going to get involved anyway and so you need the facts and b) so that I don’t shoot Peter.”

“Oh, okay, sounds good.”

John grinned at his kid. Damn, he had so much work to do to make this right.

Later that night:

Stiles headed up to his room after dinner and a movie with his dad, something they hadn’t done in at least 8 years. He felt, no exactly happy, but content. He’d been allowed this day, where his dad knew what he’d been up to and still loved him. As Stiles looked at himself in his bathroom mirror he smiled and spoke aloud to himself, “Even if it all ends tomorrow I’m glad we got today.”

What he didn’t know was that his dad heard him. John had come in to bring Stiles some fresh sheets from the hall closet, and had to stop himself from tearing at his hair in frustration. The Sheriff has known it wouldn’t happen easily or quickly, and Stiles would never say a word again if he knew how much his dad was hurting but god, John just wanted his son to feel safe and loved.

Softly, he crept out of the room, sheets in hand and waited in the hall until he could hear Stiles puttering around. He knocked lightly then pushed open the door, sheets in hand when he saw Stiles already in the midst of switching out his sheets. “Great minds and all,” quipped Stiles as he took the sheets from his dad’s hands and put them on his desk.

John noted that Stiles had changed the bandages on his arms. Stiles noticed where his dad was looking, and without missing a beat grabbed a hoodie and pulled it on. “They’re just scratches, Dad. I know how to deal with stuff like that…”

Both of them winced at the other implications of Stiles’ words, “Dad, I meant running with wolves I’ve gotten really good at patching myself up.”

“But that’s not all you meant, is it Mica?” It really wasn’t a question in John’s mind, but he phrased as one anyway. When Stiles didn’t speak John decided to, “I want to reiterate what I told you earlier today. One, you never deserve abuse, in any form. Ever. Two, I don’t care where I am or what I’m doing, if you feel like you need to hurt yourself to get some peace you call me. Do you understand me, Mischief?” He walked over to his son, taking one of his hands, guessing that there were scars on his son’s arms that had been there long before yesterday.

“I understand,” Stiles whispered, then he swallowed, voice louder, “Dad, it’s not exactly what you’re thinking. I don’t, I never. I don’t cut myself. I… Just sometimes everything is too much and pain helps focus me. I dig my nails into my palm or my arm. It doesn’t scar.”

“Not physically,” whispered John, who was equal parts, relieved, that Stiles was talking about this with him, and terrified, because his son was right, those types of hurts didn’t leave discernible marks.

“It’s why I keep my hair short,” confessed Stiles, rubbing his hand over his head “I used to pull on it when I got frustrated.”

John reached out to gently cup Stiles’ chin, in his hand, “My words still stand, Mischief.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Stiles sent him a half smile, and the turned to finish making his bed.

“Goodnight, Mischief. I love you.”

“Love you too, Daddio.”


	10. Scrambled eggs and betas on the porch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and the Sheriff have breakfast together. The betas show up. The Sheriff heads to the station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.

John didn’t sleep well that night. Without his usual glass or three of whisky he felt unsettled, eventually, after he woke up for the fourth time in five hours he headed downstairs to the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water, then paused at the liquor cabinet, fingers curling over the handle to open it. He pulled it open and took out every, last bottle. Seven, eight, nine, ten… they sat on the counter taunting him. He screwed the cap off of the first bottle and poured it out in the sink.

Every empty bottle made him feel lighter.

When he was finished John gathered up the bottles and tossed them into the recycle. He didn’t need to dull anything anymore. He needed to stay on his toes and start making up for the past.

Stiles came downstairs a little after five in the morning to find his dad drinking a cup of coffee and writing something out.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Stiles nodded then realized his dad hadn’t looked up yet and couldn’t see him, “Yeah, something like that.”

“You want something to eat?” The question was asked casually, but the Sheriff’s intentions were far from casual. He looked up to watch Stiles who seemed to internally debate his father’s question.

“I’ll make breakfast,” murmured Stiles, keeping his eyes away from his dad’s as he wandered farther into the kitchen and brought out a pan and a carton of eggs. John stood up, making sure to telegraph his movements once he noticed his son tense slightly at the movement, “I’ll help. Your mom married me in part because of my scrambled eggs,” he confided softly, catching his son by the elbow as Stiles stumbled at the out of the blue reference to Claudia.

“I didn’t know that,” whispered Stiles as he turned away from his dad to grab some bread to make toast.

“I never meant to keep her from you like that, Mica.”

“I know.”

They worked side by side quietly, the only sound aside from the cooking eggs and the zing of the toaster wires was an almost imperceptible humming. It was coming from Stiles, but John knew his son was likely completely unaware of what he was doing. Claudia used to do that too, hum, sing, laugh, all without really realizing it. She’d loved life so much and the people in it, Stiles and himself most of all.

When they sat down to eat the humming continued, but John could see Stiles’ attention caught by what he had been writing. “I’m trying to set everything straight in my mind. Mind map… or whatever that’s called.”

“Makes sense. Anything you need filled in?”

“Not yet, but I am curious about something…”

“Okay, shoot.”

“I was going over the night we showed up at the Jungle,” Stiles coughed, choking slightly on his orange juice, “And I realized we hadn’t ever really talked about what you said…”

John left it open-ended, if Stiles wanted to tell him he’d be open to it, but if they weren’t there yet he would respect him.

“What part of the evening were you…”

“Stiles,” the name was softer on the Sheriff’s lips than it had ever been in recent years.

“Ah, that part,” Stiles stopped toying with his scrambled eggs and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, an anxious tell he’d inherited from his dad, “Well, dad, I can’t say I ever imagined this,” he kept his face ducked down and John decided to interject “I wasn’t rejecting you; you’ve got to know that, Stiles.” At that Stiles looked up and seemed to breathe deeply before blurting out “I’m bisexual.”

John did the first thing he could think of that might reassure Stiles, and reached out to grip his son’s hand, drawing his attention away from grating his nails into the tabletop, “I love you, Mica; this doesn’t change that.”

Stiles smiled, a small, genuine smile, “Thanks Dad.”

John gave his son’s hand another tight squeeze before letting him return to eating his breakfast. He noticed that Stiles was actually eating rather than just toying with his food, “These eggs are truly amazing, pops.”

“Yeah, well, I only know how to cook three things --- scrambled eggs, chili, and potato pancakes – when your repertoire is that limited everything you make better be damn good.”

They each ate a few more bite before John decided to push his luck a bit, “So, is there anyone who has caught your eye?” He deliberately didn’t add ‘at school’ to see what Stiles would say.

Stiles looked at him confused, “I wouldn't tell you that I accept you and then expect you to never talk about it again, son.” Another smile appeared for his troubles.

“The supernatural keeps me busy.”

“And Lydia?”

“Totally in love with Jackson. Also, pretty sure we’re much better off as friends.”

“But you’ll keep me in the loop, if that changes?”

Stiles huffed out a laugh, “Sure, pops.”  
At that moment Stiles’ phone rang and so did John’s.

“Sheriff Stilinski,” John stood up but didn’t leave the kitchen.

“Hello?” Stiles answered.

“Batman!” crowed a voice on the other end of the line.

“Erica? It’s like 6am.”

“I know, but I wanted to check in early,” her voice chirped, “Also, I don’t want the police to arrest us.”

John muttered a reply into his phone and then headed to the door as Stiles replied to Erica, “What?”

The Sheriff pulled open the door to find Erica, Boyd, and surprisingly, Isaac on his front porch. He stepped from the doorway and turned toward his neighbour’s house, waving his hand at the Ms. Mertens who was peeking through her curtains at the porch. She waved back and closed the curtains. The Sheriff turned back to survey the teens, who Stiles had spoken of fondly the day before, “Come on in.” He stepped back to let the trio into the house where they were met by a confused Stiles.

“Erica, is everything okay?”

John watched as a switch flipped within his son, the fatigue and tension that was still in his body vanished focusing all of his attention on the three betas.

“Derek told me he said I was going to call,” replied Erica.

“Yeah, I figured call meant phone call,” Stiles shook his phone in his hand, then realizing he was still on a call with the girl in his living room ended the call.

“Well, we can hear your heartbeat better in person,” Boyd commented, uncharacteristically volunteering information, “And, forgive us, but we thought you might try to fudge how you’re doing if we only got you on a phone call.”

Stiles was taken aback, surprised at the lengths they’d gone to check up on him. All three betas could scent his surprise, and Isaac whined lightly, which led to Stiles snapping out of his own thoughts to hold out a hand to the young beta who latched onto Stiles in a hug. John watched his son take care of the people in his pack, man, that was weird for him to think about, being part of a pack.

“I’m…”  
“Don’t,” whimpered Isaac into Stiles’ neck, “I wasn’t fine. Neither were Erica and Boyd.”

“Hush, pup,” Stiles said, hugging Isaac a bit tighter, eventually they parted, but Isaac didn’t seem comfortable completely letting go of him yet, “Derek knows you’re here, right?”

Boyd nodded.

Then John’s phone rang again, “Sheriff, we’ve got some paperwork that you need to see. Do you want me to drop it off at your house?” John watched as Stiles shepherded the betas into the kitchen and set about fixing coffee and some food for the trio.

“I’ll come in for a shift today, Tara. I’d like to have a meeting with you when I get in this morning,” the Sheriff makes a snap decision and says goodbye to his deputy before going in to tell Stiles he’d be out for a bit.

He smiled when he saw Erica sitting on Boyd’s lap as she sliced bananas with her claws, that was new, but surprisingly, not freaking him out too much. Boyd was sipping his coffee and Isaac was plastered up against Stiles’ back as he mixed what looked like it was shaping up to be pancake batter.

“Stiles,” John consciously kept himself from saying Mica, protecting his son’s name, and smiled when his son tapped Isaac on the shoulder to get the beta to keep mixing the batter before turning to look at his dad.

“Yup?”

“I’m heading into the station for a few hours. Call me if you need anything.”

“Be safe,” Stiles replied, turning back to his task when John crossed the kitchen to tuck his son into a hug, dropping a kiss on the top of his head before waving to the betas.

His dad’s hug left him feeling a bit off kilter, but as Isaac pressed back against him and Boyd, moved Erica onto a chair and tucked himself in on Stiles’ other side the young man found he could still breath steadily.


	11. The Stilinski's Second Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sheriff goes to work. He admits to having screwed up but gets some support. Also, the talk with Scott is set up by some deputies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.
> 
> My headcanon for the Beacon Hills Sheriff's Station is that it's the Stilinski's second home and the department is a pretty tight knit group. They all know Stiles, they all love Stiles, and they're all going to be there for John and Stiles as the duo work things out.

The Sheriff passed through the front doors of the station, nodding at his deputies, noting the new faces that cropped up. Other counties were lending them extra bodies when need be so new faces weren’t too unusual, none of them appeared on duty that day. John was grateful for that, because he needed his second family today, and interlopers would not be welcome.

Tara was waiting by his office, a coffee cup in her hand and a question in her eyes as she spotted him. Before he opened his door, John turned around to see if a familiar tuft of grey hair was visible and it was, “Jerry,” he called out to the man who’d joined Beacon Hills PD at the same time as him and beckoned the man over to where his right-hand deputy was waiting. He set down his notes and hung up his jacket, gesturing at his deputies to take their seats, then closing the door and drawing the blinds he leaned against the front of his desk.

“What’s going on, Sheriff?” Tara asked, concern evident in her voice, “Is Stiles okay?”

“This isn’t the kind of conversation that needs honorifics or titles, Tara,” John spoke, voice tired and pained, “I need to know if I just ignored the warning signs or if we’re all just oblivious.”

“Okay, I can’t say I know what you’re talking about, John,” Jerry said, slowly.

“After Claudia died, was I still a functional Sheriff?”

Tara and Jerry shared a look, “Well,” Tara spoke first, but when John raised his head to look at her she paused, he nodded, “There was once, I thought maybe you’d been drinking, not on the job, but we’d called you in late,” she swallowed and then continued, “I asked Stiles if everything was okay the next time he was in, but he insisted so vehemently that he was fine, that everything was fine.”

“You got something to add, Jerry?”

“Not until I know why we’re talking about this now, John. Is Stiles okay? You haven’t taken time off like you did yesterday in almost eight years.”

“I know,” John scrubbed a hand over his face, “I screwed up. Stiles is,” he paused, the word okay felt dishonest but he didn’t really know what else to say either “He’s been carrying more around than I ever realized and it came to a head the other night. He needed me yesterday and I wasn’t going to screw that up, not again.”

Jerry nodded, “I’m in the same boat as Tara. There was awhile where I was concerned, getting ready to approach you, but then slowly things got better so I stayed back. Stiles always insisted things were fine, good even. He grew up the day Claudia died John,” Jerry’s tone softened at the end of his sentence.

“Since before then,” John replied, “I didn’t know though.”

“But you’re so close…” Tara trailed off at the look of pain and regret on John’s face.

“It wasn’t just you he fooled,” Jerry interjected, “He knows everything there is to know about the regulars at this station, but he’s a blur, never staying long enough for us to get a straight answer out of him,” Jerry paused, “What are you telling us, John?”

“I can’t say too much, that’s his story to tell, but I want to be better, starting today, not tomorrow and I’m going to need everyone’s help on this.”

“Count us in,” Tara replied readily, “Stiles is important to all of us; although we probably don’t tell him enough” she mused out loud.

John nodded, “From what I’ve seen and heard over the past few days he doesn’t really understand the extent that anyone cares for him, even me.” He bounced a fist off his desk, then spoke again, voice stronger and clearer, “I want a new schedule drafted by the end of my shift today. Make it more equal and cut my doubles down to once or twice a month unless necessary.” Tara nodded and then stood up, before she left she grasped the Sheriff’s shoulder, “We’re here for you, Sheriff.”

“It’s not me I’m concerned about.”

“You and Stiles are a package deal, sir.” With a small salute she left, closing the door behind her, leaving Jerry and John alone.

“Finally, decided to let the rest of the department pull their weight eh?”

“I’ve been overworking,” Jerry snorted.

“Understatement of the century. You worked on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and New Year’s because you said everyone else deserved some time off. You’ve been avoiding him, John and he doesn’t deserve that.”

“Well, no one else appears to have stepped in,” John replied through gritted teeth, slightly angry at his friend’s observation.

Jerry sighed, “We tried, but if what you said about him not realizing his own importance is even half as severe as you made it sound, it makes sense. I won’t deny that we failed him too, John.”

“I won’t let that happen again though,” Jerry stood up and clapped his friend on the back, “Claudia would be pissed if she saw you stewing in guilt,” he commented.

“I think she’d be a little more distracted by Stiles right now,” muttered John, “Thank you, Jerry.”

“Always, Sheriff. And if you slip again, I’ll be sure to not let anything stop me from slapping you upside the head.”

John grinned half-heartedly, “Thanks.”

As Jerry went to leave his office John asked him to wait, “Can you call in Scott McCall? He and I need to have a little chat.”

“About the murders or Stiles?”

John raised his eyebrow at his deputy, “Want me to scare him a bit before he comes in?”

The Sheriff considered it “I think the armoury could use a bit of a sweep, especially with mountain lions on the loose don’t you?”

Jerry’s grin turned wicked, “Of course, sir.”   
\--  
“H’llo?” Scott had grabbed at his phone after it rang for the fourth time that morning. He had no idea who would be calling him at 7am “Stiles, I swear to god, stop calling me. It’s early” Scott’s whine echoed through the phone in the conference room where Jerry was making the call, with two of his fellow deputies, Jessica Connors and Adam Sticks. All three rolled their eyes before Jerry spoke, “You might want to update your caller ID, Mr. McCall, because this is Deputy Jerome Singleton from the Beacon Hills County Sheriff’s Department, not Stiles.”

At home, Scott jolted up in his bed, “Uh, sorry. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yes, the Sheriff wanted you to come in to chat.”

Scott made a confused sound, “Uh, sure, I’m available after noon today, but I could just drop by his place later…”

Jerry cut off the teen, watching Adam’s ears turn red in frustration, and rattled off the secondary excuse he’d come up with, “We had some reports from a party that was held the other night and we just wanted to clarify some things with you.”

“But I never gave a statement…”

“The Sheriff just wants to chat about some stuff he heard from Stiles,” Jerry interjected before Scott could refuse.

Scott huffed loudly, forgetting he was on a call for a moment “Fine, I’ll be there.”

“As soon as possible, Mr. McCall.” Jerry hung up.

“Seriously? Did he just huff and basically complain about coming down to clarify things?” Jessica twirled a pen in her hands, annoyance in her voice.

“What’s up with this, Jer?”

“Yeah, what’s eating at the Sheriff?”

“What do you think?” Jerry asked them, flipping through some papers on the table.

“Stiles,” both deputies said at the same time.  
Jerry nodded.

“But the kid’s fine, right? I mean I see him every week,” commented Adam.

“Why?” Jerry asked, sharply, his attention snapping to his fellow deputy.

“He’s tutoring Callie in science and English,” Adam explained, holding his hands up, palms out, “He comes over at least once a week to help her out; he has been doing it for the past two years.”

“Does he stick around afterward?” asked Jerry.

Adam paused, then slowly shook his head, “No. We used to ask him to stay, but he always said he needed to get home so he could eat with the Sheriff… although”

“What?” asked Jessica.

“Well, one time he told me that I had to drop by the station with some paperwork and the Sheriff mentioned he hadn’t eaten dinner yet, it was late,” Adam’s face shifted through several emotions rapidly, “Damn.”

“You’re not the only one he’s been playing, Adam,” Jerry said quietly.

“So, the thing with McCall…” Jessica started.

“Is about Stiles, yeah,” Jerry replied, “And if that phone call is anything to go by, that kid’s not receiving the amount of support we thought he was.”

“Any plans to freak out McCall then?” Adam asked, genuinely interested.

“Sheriff suggested we clean out the long-range guns, you know, mountain lions and such. We need to be prepared,” Jerry explained to the two deputies who smirked at his reply.

“We’re in.”


	12. Shut up, Scott!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and the Sheriff talk. Things get sorted out. It's a start for Scott to fix his friendship with Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf.
> 
> *Drug use reference is the wolfsbane.

Scott walked through the front doors of the Sheriff’s station and was met with the view of three deputies off to one side, setting out what looked like an entire armory’s worth of long-range guns. His eyes widened and Jerry noticed him out of the corner of his eye, “McCall, thanks for coming down. We’re just making sure the department’s prepped for any more of those mountain lions or wolves that were roaming the woods.”

The young man swallowed heavily, “Shouldn’t you be calling in animal control or something for tranquilizers?”

“Unfortunately, not Scott,” John walked out of his office to greet his son’s supposed best friend, before escorting him into the office John turned to his deputies, “Set aside some space for some new stocks of ammo. I’ve got a consultant sending me some new stuff, it’s got a flower in it or something.”

Scott’s ears perked up, “A flower?” his voice a bit shaky.

“Yeah, acorn or aconite, something like that. My contact says it puts wild things down better than the regular stuff,” the Sheriff clamped his hands down on Scott’s shoulders and steered him into the office, wondering if the kid would come clean given the opening John had kindly provided him.

“You shouldn’t trust Chris Argent,” Scott blurted out when the door closed.

John had not expected that to come out of Scott’s mouth, “What?”

“Your consultant, it’s Chris isn’t it?”

“No, but even if it was, isn’t Chris the father of your girlfriend, Scott?”

“Yeah, well… Just, he’s not the most savoury character in town.”

“I see,” John commented, situating himself behind his desk, indicating that Scott should sit “So, I’m not sure what Jerry told you but…”

“I didn’t stay at the party that long. I didn’t even have anything to eat or drink so I’m not sure how much help I’ll be” Scott blurted out before John even asked a question.

“Didn’t you and Stiles go to the party together?”

“Yeah, we did, he really wanted to go and it’s not exactly my scene but Allison was going too and I needed a place to talk to her. I’m not too sure what Stiles got up to, honestly” Scott admitted “And when I called him after Allison told me we needed some time apart he didn’t pick up.”

“So, you just left the party?” John asked, tone level, not letting frustration creep in yet.

“God, what did he do? Seriously, Sheriff I needed him last night after this thing with Allison and he just blew me off.”

That caused John to pause for a few moments to get his anger under control. “Have you been in contact with anyone else since the other night? Allison maybe? Or Lydia?”

Scott scuffed the ground with his shoe “Allison won’t respond to my texts. And Stiles still hasn’t called me back” He looked up then, “Is he not at home or something?”

“Or something?” John repeated, trying to restrain himself from growling at the oblivious boy in front of him, “If you call being poisoned something, then yes, let’s go with or something.”

Scott’s eyes went wide in shock “Poisoned?”

“The drinks at the party were spiked” John started to explain when Scott, made to get out his phone.

“And just who would you be calling, Scott?”

“Allison was drinking that night!”

“She’s fine, Scott. Allison, Lydia, Boyd, Erica, and Isaac are all okay, now. Derek saw to that.” Scott’s fingers paused over Allison’s contact in his phone and he nearly dropped it.

“Derek, as in Derek Hale? What does he have to do with this?” Scott asked, tone suddenly aggressive.

“Well, he was looking out for his pack, Scott.”

John wondered if it was possible for eyes to actually fall out of a human head, because Scott’s expression at the moment would surely be a contender for that occurrence.

“Stiles told you?” Scott sounded almost offended.

“Not exactly…”

“I told him to not get other people involved. It’s bad enough he keeps ending up in the middle of things” Scott spoke, anger evident in his tone.

“Shut up, Scott! I know Stiles didn’t want me involved. I know he wanted to protect me and believe me, I know you encouraged him to keep it from me by playing on his fears of losing me” the Sheriff put up a hand “You might not have had malicious intentions but these secrets have been tearing Stiles apart and you’ve done little to nothing to keep him together. At least from what I’ve heard or seen.”

While Scott had looked slightly shamefaced when the Sheriff had started speaking he looked ready to interrupt and speak his mind by the end, but the Sheriff wasn’t done talking.

“Stiles had wolfsbane poisoning, Scott. I hear you’ve seen the effects before, but do you know what it’s like to watch someone you love suffer under its effects for hours? The other humans in the pack had much less in their systems than Stiles, but because he was alone at a party he didn’t want to be at, I know you dragged him out just so you could talk to Allison, he had ingested enough that Derek told me we were lucky it wasn’t more intense.”

Scott looked somewhat guilty now “I didn’t know.” He ducked his head wondering what had happened during Stiles’ poisoning that had set the Sheriff so on edge.

“So, when he didn’t answer you texts or calls you just went home?” John asked, voice sharper.

Scott nodded, head still down.

“What kind of friend are you trying to be, Scott? The worst?” John’s voice was a bit louder now, trying to get the kid to understand how serious this situation was.

“I’m trying to keep him out of all of this!” Scott replied, voice a bit louder too, thankfully as the Sheriff he’d had the opportunity to soundproof his office years ago.

“He’s in it, Scott. He’s been in it since you were bitten, since you went through your first full moon, since you met him at the beginning of third grade. You knew that Stiles would stick by you through everything, yet you push him away anyways.”

“He’s human,” Scott gritted out.

“He’s supposed to be your best friend. He’s pack,” Scott looked affronted.

“He’s human,” the teen wolf repeated, less aggressively.

“And yet Derek embraced him, and by default me apparently, as pack yesterday.”

“I just wanted to keep him safe. I mean hanging out with Allison and I isn’t dangerous, but the rest of the pack, they just want to be around him to make sure I stick it out in the Hale pack. I don’t want him to be disappointed if they ditch him, because he didn’t get the offer of the bite.”

John was so close to revealing that Peter had in fact offered Stiles the bite, but reminded himself that that was not the issue at hand.

“Well, they seem to like him well enough given that they call and check up on him.”

“I’m his best friend!”

“Well, I haven’t seen you around at all lately, Scott.”

Scott sighed, “Look, I’m sorry. If I had known about the wolfsbane thing I would have walked him home or something.”

“This wasn’t something he needed to sober up from, Scott. He was hallucinating and remembering things, awful things,” John’s voice teetered on breaking then he pulled himself back together, “Take out your phone.”

“Why?” Scott asked.

“Just do it, Scott.”

The teen did, unlocking his phone and going to his texts as instructed, “Now, scroll back to September 20 and as you scroll notice how often you talk about Allison with my son and nothing else.”

“Look, it’s not my fault that Lydia kissed me and that she doesn’t like Stiles back,” Scott huffed out, but he dutifully scrolled through his messages, noticing that he did seem to mention Allison a lot. As he scrolled he didn’t see one text where Stiles messaged him randomly and he responded. Scott gulped, realizing that he had been talking his friend’s ear off about his girlfriend but it was love, right? That’s what happens when you fall in love.

As he reached the date the Sheriff had asked him to find, he looked up expectantly, “What about September 20th do you want me to see?”

“What is September 20th Scott?”

Scott’s forehead creased in confusion “Uh, I think it was a Friday. Yeah, definitely a Friday because I was over at Allison’s.”

“Did Stiles text you that night, Scott?”

Scott looked down to check, scrolling through until his eyes landed on it and he dropped his phone.

His phone didn’t break, it just laid on the floor, screen bright, looking up at him. The words typed on it were taunting him.

Their code word.

The one that had probably saved his life when he was younger, was typed neatly with his own reply underneath Stiles’ request for company “With Ally. Busy.”

Then he remembered why September 20th was important “Oh my god,” Scott gasped out, he reached blindly for the inhaler he didn’t need anymore, because he’d ignored their code word. He’d forgotten his best friend’s birthday. He’d left his best friend to be poisoned. He’d left Stiles alone.

“Do you know what he did that night, Scott?” John’s voice wasn’t gentle, but it was no longer furious, it sounded tired and sad instead.

Numbly, Scott shook his head.

“I was working a double so he,” John took in a deep breath then continued speaking “He went to the cemetery and he curled up by his mom’s grave, because he wanted to spend his birthday with someone.”

Scott whined, his wolf coming to the surface of his mind, angry at his rejection of his packmate and anxious about the pain said packmate would have undergone. His wolf had always recognized Stiles as pack, but he’d just assumed that Derek was only placating Scott by also inviting Stiles to things. Scott’s wolf sounded like it wanted to scrape Scott’s insides raw for his obliviousness. He didn’t know when he started to shift, but suddenly, John was in front of him reminding him to control himself, that he needed to get his shit together.


	13. The Origins of the Stiles Stilinski Defense Squad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott resolves to do better.
> 
> *Also, in an earlier version I included lines that implied Melissa didn't know about the supernatural yet; this has been changed to suit the rest of the series.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.
> 
> *This is a short one to lead into bigger things.

Slowly, his shift melted back, but even as his wolf settled a bit beneath his skin Scott still whined, high, and brokenly “I have to make this right” he growled, hands clenching and unclenching as he spoke.

“You’re not wrong, Scott” the Sheriff moved away from the werewolf now that he was no longer showing signs of shifting in his office, “But you can’t just go up and apologize. This is a lot bigger than a simple ‘I’m sorry’, you know that right?”

Scott nodded, quickly, unintentionally giving the Sheriff his best kicked puppy look. John was not overly moved by the look, but he had to admit that Scott seemed sincere. He’d keep an eye on the kid, because Stiles loved him so much if for no other reason.

“You broke his trust, Scott. You hurt him. I need you to understand that.”

“I’m getting that” Scott replied, “I get the feeling there’s other stuff you’re not telling me though.”

“Yeah, well, there’s stuff he’s not telling me either, so fair’s fair, kid.”

Scott nodded, knowing that he hadn’t just broken Stiles’ trust but John’s too.

“I’ll figure something out. I’ll help. I will.”

“And I’ll hold you to that.”

Scott stood up to leave, then paused, “You said the rest of the pack’s with him now?”

John nodded, Scott bit his lip then nodded, “I won’t ruin that then. I’ll check on him later, give myself time to start coming up with a plan.” Scott smiled a bit ruefully, “I haven’t come up with a plan without Stiles since we met. But this one’s for him, so it’s got to be better than all of those combined.”

“Oh, and Scott, I want to talk your mom about all of this too,” John said, his voice stern.

Scott nodded again and winced internally, thinking that the Sheriff probably wasn't thrilled that Melissa had been keeping secrets from him about his son either.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I am sorry,” Scott spoke quietly but clearly, “Ever since I was turned I wanted to keep things as normal and human as possible, but Stiles jumped in feet first, and it scared me.”

“He has a tendency to do that,” responded John, voice fond as he thought about his son.

“It wasn’t fair. I’ll make it up to him. I will.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it, son.” John wasn’t heartless, but he needed to protect Stiles and if Scott couldn’t pull his weight as a friend then he’d rather cut the kid off than let Stiles go back to feeling alone again.

Scott met John’s eyes and nodded curtly, then went for the door before pausing again, “If Chris Argent isn’t your consultant, who is?”

“I’ve got a potions master on retainer by the name of Snape, pretty famous guy.”

Scott laughed, “Sometimes I forget that the sarcasm’s genetic,” and then waving to John he left the station.


	14. But why?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erica, Isaac, and Boyd chat about Stiles. Stiles deals with some self-esteem issues, but the Sheriff is there to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.

Isaac, Erica, and Boyd never wanted to leave Stiles’ side. When they’d arrived earlier that morning they hadn’t been sure what to expect, but the assault of emotions that hit their senses as they entered the Stilinski house made their wolves whine and seek out comfort. Isaac had been the first one to give into his instincts for comfort and practically wrapping himself around Stiles in an effort to make the teen feel loved, feel wanted, and feel like pack.

After they ate though, Boyd suggested movies, and from there the four of them started watching the MCU movies in order. It took less than ten minutes for Erica to curl up around Stiles’ legs, while Boyd settled himself behind her and behind Stiles. Isaac stayed tucked up against Stiles’ chest and somewhere around the second Iron Man movie, Stiles drifted off into a semblance of sleep.

“He smells exhausted,” murmured Boyd quietly.

“He is exhausted, but it’s more than that,” replied Erica as she rubbed soothing circles into Stiles’ leg, “He smells sad and lonely.” Isaac shook his head, drawing the attention of the other two, “It’s more than that,” whispered the beta, “He smells alone. Did you feel how surprised he was when we showed up. And then he pushed it all down and just took us in? Derek told us he wasn’t sure he was pack; we have to take responsibility for that too.”

“But it’s not just a recent thing,” Boyd commented, stroking Erica’s hair, “I mean the Sheriff smelled like… like grief, you guys.”

Isaac whined low in his throat and curled closer, Stiles’ arm tightening to keep Isaac comfortable and secure.

“Well, then we’ll just have to fix that,” stated Erica. The other two betas agreed with light purrs, and then they all turned back to the movie.

By the time the Sheriff made it home for dinner the sun had set, but the betas hadn’t left Stiles alone. Isaac had actually ordered in Chinese food, and Boyd was keeping an eye on Stiles’ food consumption, prodding the boy to remember to eat. John joined them at the table, taking a hearty portion of vegetables, if only to make his son smile, and settled into the little group.

At the end of the meal, Isaac and Erica pushed Stiles back into his chair when he went to clear the plates and store the leftover food, “Chill, batman,” Erica commented.

“Not sure I’ve done anything today except ‘chill’” Stiles huffed out, a little uncomfortable.

“Yeah, well, you could stand to do that more often,” Isaac teased him. Rolling his eyes Stiles, stayed in his chair, but turned to watch the two betas shuffle around his kitchen. Finally, Boyd stood, clasping Stiles’ shoulder, and squeezed it tightly before gesturing that they should leave. Erica swept Stiles up in a tight hug and then Isaac stepped up for a hug too before joining Erica and Boyd at the door. The Sheriff wished the trio a good night while Stiles stayed in the kitchen trying to figure out how he was feeling.

“Mica?” John asked, walking back into the kitchen to see Stiles with his hands in fists on the table, “What’s wrong?”

“I, I don’t know,” Stiles murmured, so his dad sat down next to him.

“Then tell me what you’re feeling,” John said, reaching out to fold a hand over one of Stiles’ hand.  
Stiles opened his mouth, then closed it.

“Take your time, son” John murmured.

“I just don’t understand,” Stiles muttered, the fist under John’s fingers shaking.

“What don’t you understand, Mica?”

“Why they stayed… they were here all day… and I don’t know why.”

John took in a few deep breaths before responding, “Because they care, Mica. Derek said you’re pack.”

“I just, I… but why?” Stiles whimpered.

John wanted to pull Stiles into a hug, to comfort him, and just keep him safe from these types of thoughts, but he knew it wouldn’t fix Stiles’ issues. Instead he, tightened his fingers over Stiles’ fist, “Mica, listen to me, please,” Stiles looked up at his dad’s face, which looked concerned and sincere, “Why did you comfort Isaac this morning?”

Stiles’ brow furrowed, “He needed it.”

“And you picked up Erica’s call even though it was early because?”

“She might have needed help.”

“And you put yourself in between me and Derek the other morning because?”

“I wanted to keep you safe,” Stiles responded, face still confused, “And Derek, needed to keep him safe too.”

“So, we needed you, Mica. They needed comfort from you, because they feel safe with you. They love you, human, just as you are, Mischief.”

“I just…”

“Don’t fully trust what I’m saying?” John filled in the rest of his son’s sentence.

Stiles tried to pull his hand back from his dad, who wouldn’t let him go, “It’s okay, Mica. I told you, I don’t expect you to trust my words right away. I haven’t done anything to win back your full trust, but listen to me. I’ll remind you every day if it helps, okay?”

Stiles took a deep breath, “Okay, dad. I’ll try.”

“That’s all I will ever ask of you, Mica.”


	15. Making McCall Work For It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott, Allison, and Lydia talk. The girls are new members of the pack.
> 
> Scott and his mom chat, briefly.
> 
> Scott starts his mission to make things up to Stiles, but his fellow betas don't make it easy on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.

“What do you want, McCall?” Lydia was unimpressed to find Scott on her doorstep at 8 o’clock in the morning on Sunday.

“How’re you feeling, Lydia?”

The young woman’s brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed, “Fine, McCall.”

“You got antidote from Derek?”

Lydia nodded, her brow unfurrowing slightly, “Yes, Allison clued me in on everything. Well, everything she knows.”

“And Allison’s okay?”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” Lydia moved to the side, allowing Scott to walk into the house.

Allison was in the kitchen watching coffee brew when she saw Scott appear with Lydia right behind him. Lydia didn’t look impressed, but then again, from what Allison knew of her new friend Lydia was rarely openly impressed by anything.

“He wanted to know that you’re okay,” Lydia stated, as she padded into the kitchen to grab some leftover fruit salad.

“Yeah, Derek came by yesterday morning,” Allison spoke quietly, still not looking at Scott.

“Like before dawn,” muttered Lydia, but then she nodded her head, “It was helpful though.”

“Don’t be too enthusiastic, Lyds” Allison joked, half-heartedly, finally glancing up at Scott she continued, “He gave us the antidote. Lydia got the mix from,” Allison’s face looked pinched and unhappy, “From Kate, before she died.”

“I didn’t know it would give people hallucinations,” murmured Lydia, who sounded somewhat contrite, but then her attention snapped back to Scott, “So, we’re fine. Did you need something else, McCall?”

“His name is Scott, Lydia. You know that.” Allison came to the defense of her, well, she wasn’t too sure how to classify Scott at the moment, but he didn’t deserve Lydia’s outright hostility at the moment.

“I, I actually came to talk about Stiles.”

Allison looked at Scott head on then, trying to figure out whether he was being sincere or not.

“I wish he was here,” Lydia interjected, causing the other two to whip their heads are to look at her, “What? He’s gone through this whole supernatural induction already. It would be useful to have his perspective. It’s not like he isn’t intelligent.”

“Man, if he could hear you say that,” Scott replied, a half-smile on his lips.

“I was surprised to see him here the other night,” Allison commented.

Scott ran a hand through his hair, “Well, I kind of dragged him along for moral support and then, well…”

“You left him here,” Lydia finished for the werewolf, her face going back to its unimpressed look.

“Yeah, I did. It was a dick move,” Scott replied, throwing himself onto a bar stool and slumping over the kitchen island.

“This isn’t some sort of pity play to help fix the fight you had with Allison, is it?” Lydia asked, an eyebrow raised.

Scott raised his head abruptly, “No.” He looked at Allison, “I have other relationships to fix right now; people that need to come first.”

“You and Stiles,” stated Allison, and Scott nodded, “You know, I was always surprised we never really hung out with him when we first started dating. He sought me out after our first date, did you know that?” Scott shook his head, eyes sad, “He told me that I seemed nice, but that he didn’t want you to get hurt so I was to make sure I was in it for real before we went out again.”

“That sounds like him,” replied Scott, “But he never told me that.”

“So, why the sudden realization that you’ve been a crap friend?” Lydia asked.

“Why do you care?” Scott replied, turning to look at her.

“Derek told me about what he has been doing to help keep us safe, about how he’s trying to help Jackson, and well, he hasn’t really been creepy with his crush like other people,” she paused, “And I’m pretty sure it’s just a front for something else right now. We could be friends, especially if we’re all going to a group or whatever Derek called it.”

“Pack?” Scott looked surprised, looking at Lydia then fixed Allison with a slightly suspicious look.

“Look, I know I don’t really have the best track record and my family’s history is even worse, but Derek seemed sincere in his offer. That’s a big thing, coming from him so I’m willing to take a chance on it.”

“What about your dad?”

“I’m trying to figure out how to approach him about it,” Allison replied, finally getting up to pour herself some coffee.

“And your mom?”

The cup rattled as Allison set it down a little faster and harder than necessary, “Was working with Kate. I overheard her talking to my grandfather on the phone,” Allison gulped then continued speaking, “She’d rather eliminate all threats to the Argent legacy than try to keep me in line.”

Scott’s eyes widened in shock and horror.

“You can see why the Hale pack would be preferable for me.” He nodded, seriously and she took a long drink of her coffee, “But first things first, Stiles. What happened?”

Scott waited a beat then started talking, about his visit to the Sheriff’s station, about his slip ups, and the major one, Stiles’ birthday although he left out some details for the sake of his best friend’s privacy. He hoped he could still call Stiles his best friend at the end of all of this.

“Well, you’ve screwed up royally,” Lydia commented at the end of his story, “But knowing Stiles, he’d probably forgive you if you just apologized.”

Scott opened his mouth to protest, “I’m not suggesting that’s what you should do wolfboy,” she snapped.

“His dad’s right. You can’t just do it all at once, and if what you know is only part of the story then we can’t be sure how many landmines and triggers we’re dealing with.”

“We?” Scott echoed.

“Yes, we. Pack. Us. Humans. Wolves.” Allison stated, straightening her spine, “I’ve been a bad friend too. He probably doesn’t even consider us friends, and well, Lydia…”

“I’ve been a bitch,” replied the teen, who was absently toying with a strawberry from her fruit salad.

“So, we, along with the rest of the pack need to fix this,” continued Allison, she reached out to grab Scott’s hand, “We can do this, Scott.”  
“As in…?”

“Us, as a couple too, yes.” Allison admitted, biting her lip, smiling slightly unsure about her words, but Scott’s smile in response left her with no doubts that she was making a good choice.

They kept their hands linked as they began to chart out a plan for the next few days. Lydia suggested meeting up with the rest of the pack to add them to the plan as well. When Scott left around noon he felt both lighter and heavier than he had in days.

He had Allison back. He had a pack. He had an Alpha.

Now, all he needed was Stiles.

Things weren’t right without his brother.

\---

When he got home he found his mom just rustling up some lunch before her shift later that afternoon.

“Hey mom,” Scott said.

“Where have you been?” Melissa responded, “You left like a bat out of hell early this morning.”

“I had to go down to the Sheriff’s station,” Scott replied, running his hand nervously through his hair.

Melissa stopped what she was doing to look at her son, “Should I be expecting a call from John then?”

“No, well, not about that. He wanted to talk about Stiles.”

Melissa’s shoulders tensed, “Is Stiles okay?”

“Not really,” Scott replied honestly, “And some of that’s due to me, so the Sheriff wanted me to know.”

“I was hoping you two would work this out on your own. You always have before,” commented Melissa, fatigue colouring her voice, “I haven’t seen him around as often lately.”

“I kinda let everything with Allison and lacrosse distract me,” Scott admitted, “The Sheriff knows, mom, about everything.”

“What happened?” her voice was sharp and all of Melissa’s attention was focused on her son now.

“The punch at Lydia’s party was spiked with wolfsbane; it sounds like Stiles had a really bad reaction to it.”

“Do you need me to check him out?” Melissa asked, concern lacing her voice, Stiles was like her second son after all. She and Stiles had taken to the supernatural stuff more or less like ducks to water, although Stiles was more obviously involved. Melissa knew her son was less open to the new world he was discovering and that had caused some tension with Stiles, who wanted to know everything so that he could keep them as safe as possible.

“John said he’s okay now. Derek gave him an antidote.” Melissa nodded, sighing heavily. She could only imagine how pissed her friend was that she hadn’t immediately involved him when she’d found out about the supernatural. She also cursed herself for not paying more attention to Stiles and noticing him withdrawing over the past few months.

“Scott, I know young love can be consuming, but he’s your best friend and you owe him either your time and attention or a clean break.”

Scott looked at her, panic written clearly across his face, “I’m going to make it right, mom. I am.”

“Good,” she paused, “I’m always here for you, kid. You know that right?”

Scott smiled and went over to hug his mom, “Yeah, I do. Thanks, mom.”  
\---  
Monday morning rolled around before he knew it and Stiles clattered down the stairs to grab his books and everything for school. His dad was already at the station, but he’d left Stiles several post-it notes around the house – on his door, his bathroom mirror, and the fridge – reminding him to eat, to take things slowly, to call if he needed anything, and the last one on the front door, reminded Stiles that his dad loved him.

Smiling at his dad’s antics Stiles sent him a quick text thanking him for the notes and then locked up before heading to his jeep. As he hoisted his bag onto his back Stiles wondered briefly what his day would be like, sure, he’d heard from the pack on the weekend, but maybe he was just imagining it all. Except all of sudden a pair of arms was wrapping around his shoulders, “Batman!” crowed Erica as Boyd and Isaac fell into step with them.

The spike of surprise at their appearance made the trio of werewolves crinkles their noses, but then Isaac started asking about the history test that they were all taking in second period and the moment of potential awkwardness passed. Stiles launched into a detailed description of Catherine the Great’s rule, supposedly for Isaac’s benefit, but the scarf wearing werewolf only laughed and threw in a few horse related jokes while protesting that he knew enough to pass the test.

At Stiles’ locker, Scott was waiting, patiently for his best friend to make an appearance and was not disappointed. He appeared at the end of the hall, sandwiched between Derek’s three betas. While his wolf was slightly frustrated that he wasn’t the one at Stiles’ side, but he had to play the long game.

“Hey Stiles!” Scott called out, knowing he sounded a bit desperate to the wolves in the vicinity and his friend’s surprise made his wolf curl up inside and growl at himself. “I’m working on it,” he muttered to himself.

“Hey Scott,” Stiles ducked out from underneath Erica’s embrace and went to his locker, the three betas leaning up against the lockers on the opposite side from Scott. They levelled Scott with varying expressions of challenge and expectation. But Scott focused on Stiles instead.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to your texts,” Stiles was apologizing already, “I’ve got some ideas that might help you and Allison though.”

“Woah, buddy, it’s not a problem. I actually wanted to talk about the party, I shouldn’t have left…” Stiles slammed his locker shut, the sound making all four wolves jump. Stiles shrugged, not meeting Scott’s eyes, “It’s cool, bro. I get it.”

Before Scott could say anything else the first bell rang and Stiles set off to class, Scott trailing him as he listened to his friend highlight his seven-part plan for Scott to win Allison back. Scott couldn’t believe how focused Stiles was on him, rather than whatever he’d been through on the weekend.

He didn’t get a chance to really talk to Stiles all morning, the Hale pack betas were sticking close to his friend’s side and while he appreciated it, he was also a touch frustrated. By the time lunch came around, he pulled Boyd aside and asked the beta to give him some time with Stiles. Almost unsurprisingly, Boyd just looked at Scott, titled his head as if considering the request and then slowly shook his head, his parting words, “Not yet” ringing in Scott’s head as he followed them to lunch. Allison and Lydia joined them at their table, while Erica would have scoffed at their addition to the pack prior to the weekend Derek had counselled his betas to give them their potential new members a real chance.

Stiles raised his eyes at both of the girls joining them, but just nudged Scott’s knee with his foot, and smiled before finding himself pulled into a conversation with Lydia about a text she’d come across while starting her own research about werewolf pack dynamics. While her openness about the supernatural would’ve thrown anyone else for a loop, Stiles trusted Derek and if he’d spoken to Lydia, well, the teen wouldn’t object to having another strategist on their side. Stiles, who’d apparently already read the work responded to the questions she was asking, trying to be as useful as possible, but he wasn’t blushing or freaking out about his proximity to Lydia at the moment.

“So, is there anyone else in the pack?” Lydia’s question caught Scott’s attention.

“Aside from us?” asked Erica, seemingly somewhat intrigued by Lydia.

“Me, Allison, you four, Derek, and Stiles. Jackson's off in London.”

Stiles swallowed trying to push down the spike of happiness that he felt at his name being so casually included in the pack list, “Peter Hale, but he’s no longer insane, Lydia, I swear.”

Lydia tensed at Stiles’ words then levelled him with an appraising look, “Do you trust him?”

“I do, but why would that matter?” Stiles replied, “You’re not here because of me, Miss Martin. Ask someone whose opinion you care about.”

Stiles gathered his lunch tray together and sent the group a small salute and walked off. Scott stood up with the intent to follow but Lydia beat him to it, slipping past him and out the doors after Stiles. Scott sat down heavily, Allison gripped his hand, “At least they were sharing knowledge and everything before that,” the huntress tried to reassure her boyfriend.

“He was only doing that to show that he’s useful,” commented Erica, “He thinks he needs to prove his worth to us,” she pursed her lips and glared at Scott as she spoke.

“Look, it’s not just Scott’s fault,” Allison replied, “We’re all responsible for making Stiles feel like he needs to prove himself to us constantly.”

“We? So, are you going to actually start treating him like a person and not just the obligatory tag-a-long best friend of your on-again/off-again boyfriend?”

While the blow was low, Allison didn’t rise to the bait, “Yeah, I am. Watch me.” And Allison went to clear her tray too, and left the cafeteria after pressing a kiss to Scott’s cheek. She headed toward the library figuring if there was anywhere someone like Stiles would hide it would be the library.


	16. Serious Giles Vibes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison and Stiles bond. The seeds for a beautiful friendship are sown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf
> 
> *Also, I always thought Stiles and Allison would be cool friends so they're definitely going to get that in this series.

Lydia met Allison at the doors of the library, “I couldn’t find him. I know he’s in there, but he’s sneakier than you when you want to be. I’ll talk to him later.” As the redhead flounced off Allison slipped into the domain of books and information, trying to decide where to start with her search. The library looked quite empty, even the librarian at the front desk was in the back office eating his lunch. Well, Allison knew Stiles wouldn’t be around people so she set off for the furthest corner of the room, climbing a few steps and wandering through the stacks until she ended up in an area she’d never been in before. It was hidden by an obnoxious display of vampire and supernatural fantasy books, a genre Allison had secretly enjoyed, before finding out her reality was in fact too similar to that of the protagonists she loved.

She slipped behind the display to find Stiles, poring over a book, twirling what looked like a throwing star in his left hand as his right hand rested on the page of the text. “You’re giving me serious Giles vibes right now,” commented Allison, expecting the teen to jump at her appearance, instead he merely looked up at her, face curious but unexpressive otherwise.

“I should have pegged you for a Buffy fan,” replied Stiles, slipping the throwing star down his sleeve.

Allison shifted from foot to foot “It’s supposed to be a compliment.”

“I took it as one,” responded Stiles, “What do you need Allison?”

“Need?”

“You tracked me down. People don’t do that unless they need something, so what is it?”

Allison blinked at him, struck by his bluntness, although it shouldn’t have surprised her. Under his rambling Stiles was logical and to the point, he was just good at disguising his intelligence, kind of like Lydia mused Allison internally.

“Can I sit?”

“It’s a free country.”

She sat, still slightly unnerved by the calmness Stiles was projecting.

“Is this about what I said to Lydia? Because if I offended her that wasn’t my intention and I will certainly apologize at the next possible opportunity.”

“It is, well, not about what you said, but what you meant,” Allison stumbled over her words, “Lydia cares about your opinion, that’s why she asked for it.”

Stiles smiled, flourishing his hands a bit “You don’t need to sugar-coat things for me, Allison. If you two are becoming pack that’s fine by me, but you don’t need to lie to me and pretend you want to be friends. I’m happy about you and Scott; I won’t stand in your way.”

Allison tapped her fingers on the table, frustrated now with Stiles.

“So, even if I tell you I want to be your friend, not because you’re friends with Scott, but because you’re you, you won’t believe me?”

“Not necessarily, but I’d ask why,” responded Stiles, his voice quiet.

“I think we have more in common than we know, and that could make us, team human, stronger within the pack.”

Stiles nodded his head from side to side as if considering her words, “So, it’s about having an alliance, strength in numbers and all that jazz,” he fluttered his hands in an imitation of jazz hands.

“No,” Allison replied, “But it can be about that for now, if you want.”

“What would it be about for you?”

“Making a new kick-ass friend.”

Stiles snorted and shook his head, doubt flashing through his eyes.

“What’re you reading?” Allison asked, nodding at the book in front of Stiles.

“Something for that history project on family ancestry and lineage,” he murmured, looking faraway for a moment, “My mom’s side of the family is kind of a mystery.” Jerking himself out of his reminiscence Stiles pulled another book from his bag, “Actually, now that we’re talking about I was going to get Scott to give this to you, but now you two are back together and all I might as well just give it to you now. That’s what friends do right?” He shot her a smile that was a bit too strained to be natural.

The book he passed her was small, leather bound, and embossed with a silver wolf and arrow. Allison flipped open the front cover to see the name Marie-Jeanne Valet. The young huntress looked up at Stiles confused, “She was the one who killed the Beast of Gevaudan; married Henri Argent after it happened. Marie’s one of the first werewolf hunters recorded in Europe.”

Wonder filled Allison’s face as she caressed the small book, “Thank you, Stiles.”

“No problem,” he said going to pack his books up as the bell sounded.

Allison stopped him before he could disappear though, “I’m serious. Thank you,” and she pulled him in for a hug. Stiles seemed surprised at the contact, but not completely uncomfortable. They broke apart after a few seconds, but Allison liked to think that the contact did the teen some good.

He nodded again, “Pack looks after pack, right?”

“Yeah,” she replied watching as he left. Then she gathered her things and set off too.


	17. Drives and Deflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John isn't ready to talk to Melissa, too bad they're already in the same car.
> 
> Scott takes steps to remind Stiles how important he is to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf

John had texted Scott the other day asking when Melissa would get off her Monday shift at the hospital. He was now waiting by his cruiser, two coffees in the cup holders inside, watching the doors for Melissa McCall to make an appearance. When she did walk outside it only took her a few seconds to remember that she had loaned Scott the car that morning out of some fit of guilt for working so much. Glaring at the cloudy sky, she debated whether she could catch a bus before the skies decided to open up and drench her.

“Melissa!”

Someone called out her name, and she turned to see John standing by his cruiser, as if he had been waiting for her. Briefly, Melissa wondered if it would just be better to wait for the bus. She was not looking forward to having this discussion with John, but she was resigned to it. She headed over taking a moment to appreciate her friend who was obviously geared up for this discussion, but had also been kind enough to come pick her up. Melissa had never given herself real time to explore any potential feelings for John; she’d been close friends with Claudia and once the woman had passed she had focused on making sure the Stilinskis were holding together.

But she never let her other feelings slip in, because at the time Stiles hadn’t needed another mom, and John certainly hadn’t needed a new wife. Over the years she’d thought of it, but now, with this conversation and the lies she’d kept looming over them she wondered if she’d ever be able to regain John’s trust completely to even attempt something.

“John,” she greeted him.

“I’ll take you home,” he responded to her greeting without returning it, but his voice wasn’t cold or angry. That boded well at least.

She nodded and settled herself into the passenger seat, after buckling up they pulled away from the hospital and John gestured to the coffee at a stop sign, “I brought drinks.”

“Mine’s decaf,” he tapped the lid with a finger, “I figured I could do my part to help Stiles stop worrying about every aspect of my health.”

Melissa raised her eyebrows slightly, but just took the cup meant for her and slowly sipped, waiting for John to raise the topic of werewolves. Instead, there was silence, which was odd when in the company of a Stilinski at the best of times.

“How is Stiles? Scott said he’d been given an antidote, but if you’d feel better having me check him over I can.”

John’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly then relaxed “He’s no longer drugged. We’re sure of that, but I would like him to get checked out soon. I get the feeling he’s been hiding more injuries from the pack than even they think.”  
“He’s good at that,” murmured Melissa, not thinking of the memories her words would bring to the surface until she spoke them, “Shit, John…”

He shook his head at her, “You’re right. He is, hell, he hid what his mother did to him for much longer than I knew,” his voice caught on his words, “I know he can lie with the best of them,” they pulled into Melissa’s driveway and John turned to look at her, anger in his eyes now, “Which is why I do not understand why any adult who supposedly cares for him would keep me out of the loop about any of this!”

He slammed his hand on the steering wheel, all the anger swiftly draining out of him as he slumped in his seat. “What the hell were you thinking, Mel?”

“Scott told me he’d keep him safe. He said they’d bring you in when it was safe.”

“So, you took the word of your teenage werewolf son, over the health and safety of my child?” John scrubbed a hand over his face, “Mel, the boys don’t even really talk anymore, not like they used to.”

“Scott said he’s working on it, John. I know you talked to him yesterday. I know you’re worried for Stiles, but God, don’t you think I’m worried for my kid too?”

“He’s stronger now though Mel, he can heal. Stiles can’t,” he sighed, fingers tapping the steering wheel restlessly, both of them look straight through the windshield and not at each other.

“Do you even know how bad it has gotten?” John asked Melissa after a moment, “With the boys? Don’t you want to know why I called Scott down to the station rather than my house? It’s because Stiles spent his sixteenth birthday in the damn cemetery by his mother’s grave instead of with me or Scott. It’s because Scott ignored their code word for the first damn time in their lives. It’s because he hurts himself and I didn’t see it. It’s because he thinks my life is more important than his. It’s because I did things after Claudia that I never knew about but they’ve shaped his entire identity. It’s because my kid feels like he isn’t worth anything to anyone and I don’t know how the hell that happened or if it can be fixed!” John’s words ended in a sharp click as he flicked the door locks off in the car, his breathing was heavy, “I thought could do this right now, but I can’t. You should go in before it rains, Melissa.”

He couldn’t look at her.

Melissa didn’t blame him.

She hadn’t known. She hadn’t seen.

She could feel the tears gathering in her eyes.

“John…”

“Please, Mel, just go.”

“We’ll talk again. Soon. Even if you just need to rant at me again.”

John huffed out a hollow laugh and Melissa exited the car, opening her front door just as it began to rain. As she closed it she watched John back the cruiser out of the driveway, even when he was angry he waited until she actually got into her house safely. When the front door shut, Melissa leaned against it and allowed her tears fall.  
\---  
John pulled back up at the station, unwilling to go home in his current, especially knowing that Stiles wouldn’t be home for another three hours at least. He figured he could knock out some paperwork and then go home for the night, maybe even get home before Stiles. Tara glanced up as he walked back into the station and as he made his way to his office she got up to follow him.

“Something you need, Deputy?” he asked, voice a bit rough from the way he’d spoken to Melissa, but he couldn’t bring himself to fully regret it. She was an adult in the know and Stiles was just a kid.

“I thought you were tapping out for the afternoon, Sheriff?” she asked him, leveling a curious look at him.

“My plans for the afternoon will have to wait a bit,” he gestured for Tara to come in and close the door behind her.

“You okay?” she asked him, “I thought you were going to talk to Melissa.”

“I was, I did, but turns out I wasn’t ready to have that conversation with her,” John sighed heavily, “I needed something to distract me for a few hours.”

“Well, we’ve got paperwork for that,” grinned Tara, dropping a sheaf of papers on his desk, looking at him more closely, “Give it time, John. Melissa loves Stiles like he’s her son, I’m sure she never meant for whatever happened to happen.”

John nodded, “You know, it’s funny. It seems that the people who profess to love Stiles the most seem to also be the ones letting him down consistently.”

Tara winced at his words, but nodded, “Well, like I said the other day, we’ll just have to work on it won’t we?”

“Can damage like this be fixed?” John mused, looking at Tara for an answer, “You studied Psychology in college.”

“Well, from what you’ve implied and what we’ve inferred, because none of us have the full story,” John went to interject, but she held up a hand, “I know it’s Stiles’ story to tell. From what we know or think, it could go either way at this point, John. The good thing is you’ve caught it now, but the healing, this next stage, making up for it, fixing it, growing beyond the hurt – that’s the tough part. That’s where people break. Don’t break, Sheriff. We’re all behind you.”

“Thank you, Tara.”

John flipped open the first file in front of him, effectively dismissing her, and she left him to do his work, leaving his door open so that he could keep one ear open to the goings on of the station.  
\--  
When the last bell rang Scott bolted out of his final period to get to Stiles before the betas, which he succeeded in, but he hadn’t beat the rest of the pack. Lydia was waiting at Stiles’ locker with a determined look on her face, “Turn around, puppy,” she told him, “I need to talk to him.”

Scott wanted to square up to her, feeling like she was threatening his ability to connect with Stiles, but part of his wolf also wanted to defer to another human in his new pack. “Lyds, leave it,” Allison interjected, coming up behind Scott, “Let him talk to, Stiles.” Lydia swept her eyes up and down Scott, and looked like she was just about respond, and not kindly when Stiles arrived looking super confused and surprised.

“Sup?” Stiles said, looking at the trio before turning to his locker to grab some books, then closing it again, “Something going on?” Scott could feel his friend’s anxiety and hope, gauging whether Scott would tell him the truth or not.

Before Scott could say a word, Lydia jumped in, “If you say Peter’s not crazy anymore I believe you.” The brief uptick in Stiles’ heartbeat at the word ‘believe’ was something Scott filed away in his mind to think about later.

“Cool, cool, cool,” Stiles replied, rubbing the back of his neck, his anxiety spiking, “Glad to hear it. See you guys later then!”

He shot off down the hallway, and Scott didn’t think, he just headed after him. “Stiles!” he called out, his friend hesitating then stopping on the school steps, “What’s up, Scott?”

“Uh, want to do dinner at my place tomorrow night after practice?”

“Um, sure, but… won’t you have plans with Allison or something?”

“No, I won’t,” Scott was a little rushed with his words, making Stiles walk the three steps back up to where Scott was standing.  
“You okay, Scott?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Stiles’ eyebrows rose, and Scott remembered the Sheriff giving him a look like that the other day, and laughed, except it came out more as a squeak as he thought about how long it had been since he’d properly watched his best friend’s expressions.

“Scott? What the hell’s going on, man?” Stiles had his hand on Scott’s shoulder now and Scott could feel his wolf, comforted by the feeling of his first packmate and best friend. His emotional anchor, before he turned, and his anchor now too, along with Allison and his mom.

During his internal freak out, Stiles had somehow pulled Scott down the steps to the parking lot and over to his jeep. Scott leaned up against the side of the jeep, and Stiles went to pull his hand away to grab his keys when Scott grabbed his friend’s hand, keeping it on his shoulder.

“Scott?” Stiles asked, a question in his voice, “Buddy, you’ve got to give me something if I’m going to help.”

“I’m okay. Sorry,” he looked up at Stiles who just looked so concerned for him and he couldn’t believe he still had a friend like Stiles, “I’m so sorry.” He knew this wouldn’t fix it, but he needed to start, he needed to say it, he needed…

“Scott, what hell are you sorry for? You forgetting I’m the king of panic attacks,” Stiles’ laugh was hollow to Scott’s ears.

“I’m sorry that I left you at the party on Friday,” Scott blurted out and Stiles’ scented soured immediately from the crisp scent of concern to the overwhelming scents of insecurity, anxiety, and embarrassment.

“Scott, I already told you it’s…”

“It’s not fine,” Scott cut Stiles off, not letting Stiles’ hand go, “You got drugged. No, you were poisoned Stiles, nothing about that is okay.”

Stiles tried to yank himself from Scott’s grip, “Oh god,” he groaned, “I can’t do this again today; I’m not doing this again.”

“Stiles…”

“Goddammit, Scott, I get okay. I know why you left, okay?”

“But if I hadn’t made you come with me it never would have happened,” Scott bristled at Stiles' seeming insistence on forgiving him when he’d done nothing to earn that forgiveness, “I could have helped.”

Stiles stopped struggling, “I’m glad you weren’t there, Scott. It’s bad enough that my dad was…” and all of the fight seemed to flow out of him. Scott let go of his hand tentatively, “But that’s not what pack does. That’s not what we do, or at least, not what I should have done,” Scott spoke in a softer tone, “You are my original pack, Stiles and you’re in my pack now, I never should have left you behind.”

Stiles drew in a deep breath, “I hear you, Scott, as for the party it’s over. You and Allison seem happy again; I’m glad.”

“Stop deflecting,” Scott said, sharply, noticing for the first time that Stiles hardly outright lied to him in the past so he’d never noticed the slight skip in his friend’s heartbeat when he lied via deflection.

“I’m not…”

“Yes, you are. I know you’re happy for Allison and me because I’m happy about it, but the pack stuff, you don’t believe me.”

“I think your werewolf senses are crossed, buddy.”

“I told you that humans weren’t pack, because I wanted to keep you safe, Stiles!”

“No, Scott, it’s because you don’t think I belong in your new world and I don’t know how to live in a world without my brother in it!” Stiles was angry now, but the overwhelming emotion Scott could feel rolling off his best friend was sadness so deep and dark he felt almost like he was choking. It was like the sadness was swallowing Stiles alive. Scott had no idea how his friend was still standing.

He gave into his wolf then because Stiles wasn’t listening, he couldn’t hear him. Instead, Scott stepped forward and pulled Stiles into a hug. His inner wolf howled at reclaiming his packmate, Stiles tried to pull away initially, but Scott just hugged him tighter, “You are my best friend, my brother, and my first pack. And this, this is a hug, because this is what you do when you’ve screwed up one of the most important relationships in your life and you need to start reminding someone how important they are to you.”

Scott kept Stiles close to him until his friend stopped trying to get away and just sunk into the embrace, but even still Scott could feel Stiles holding back, anxious and afraid. Scott knew he couldn’t fix everything today, but this, this was a start.

Eventually, they pulled apart, but Scott kept his hands on Stiles’ arms, keeping his friend upright.

“Let me drive you home,” Scott requested, “Please?”

Stiles wanted to refuse, but felt so shaky he knew it’d be unsafe to drive. He nodded, jerkily. He handed off the keys, hands shaking and went around to the passenger side of his jeep.

“Wait, your mom’s car, Scott, it’s…”

“I swear, every time you say fine, I’m just going to hug you until you’re honest with me,” Scott threatened him.

Stiles was quiet for a moment, “Scott, you can’t leave it here. I’ll just take a few minutes and then I'll be fine to drive.” Scott made good on his threat, and pulled Stiles into another hug, although this one was shorter. Stiles almost rolled his eyes.

“No, I’ll come back for it, please?” Scott pleaded with Stiles, finally, his friend nodded and then closed his eyes to lean back against his seat.

“Thank you, Stiles,” Scott said.

“Not sure what you’re thanking me for, Scotty.”

“For being you,” he replied. Stiles shook his head, murmuring, “I must be dreaming.” Out of the corner of his eye Scott saw Stiles tick off his fingers, twice.

“What’re you doing?” Scott asked, curious and happier than he'd been in awhile. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d just talked to Stiles about something non-supernatural or Allison related. His wolf was settled for the moment and he was taking care of Stiles; life was good.

“In dreams you have six fingers,” Stiles replied.

“Really?” then Scott rushed to keep speaking so it didn’t sound like he was questioning Stiles’ information, “What else?”

“Else? To tell the difference between dreams and reality?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah,” Scott responded, excited.

“Umm, I don’t think you can read the time. Your hands might be deformed or have less than five fingers too. Actually, the six fingers thing is something I’ve just noticed,” Scott pulled up at a stop sign and turned to look at Stiles, “You’ve noticed? What kind of dreams are you having, Stiles?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “I’ve always had weird dreams, Scott.” Scott pulled the jeep up on a side road and parked, looking at Stiles.

“Don’t deflect with me, Stiles.”

“Scott, this is me. You know that’s what I do. I’m 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone; sarcasm is my only defense.”

“It’s not your only defense,” Scott replied, staunchly.

Stiles snorted.

“You’re smart,” Scott stated, “You’ve got your bat too” he added as an afterthought.

“None of us even play baseball,” replied Stiles, with a short laugh that Scott echoed.

“Are you having nightmares?” Scott asked.

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, “Scott…”

“You don’t need to tell me right now,” Scott soothed his friend, reaching out to put his hand on the back of Stiles neck too, anchoring his friend. He filed away the nightmare question into his Stiles file and then after pulling his hand back, put the car back into gear and continued off to the Stilinski house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I picture the hug between Scott and Stiles like the one that happened between Cory Matthews and Shawn Hunter from the 'Boy Meets World' episode "Cult Fiction". https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YebsYAfnr_s


	18. Well, that was dramatic for no damn reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison reveals to her dad that she is part of the Hale pack.
> 
> Chris and Allison pay a visit to the Stilinski household.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.

Allison went up to her room as soon as she left school, tossing her backpack onto her desk chair, and digging into it until she was able to gently extract the book Stiles had given her earlier that day. She curled up on her bed and opened the journal, curious about what type of tales the book might have to tell her. The young hunter quickly lost herself in the story of her ancestor, reading not just about her hunts and her training but Marie’s marriage to Henri, their children, and everything in between. She read for so long that the sun was just starting to set when a knock sounded on her door, startling her.

“Allison?” her dad called from the other side of her door.

“Yeah, dad?” Allison called back, tucking the book underneath her pillow as her father walked into her room.

“You didn’t hear me calling? Dinner’s ready.”

“I was just distracted by something for school,” Allison said, and while it wasn’t technically a lie it wasn’t technically the truth either. Her gut twisted, she hated lying to her dad, but she wasn’t sure where he stood on the whole ‘Hale pack being rebuilt in Beacon Hills’ scenario yet. She knew he wasn’t like her mother, with her bloodlust and all. She knew her parents had been a marriage of convenience; her mother had told her as much once when she was younger, telling her that love was a distraction. That was when Allison had started hiding the supernatural YA novels she bought in silent rebellion against the woman who called herself her mother, but really couldn’t give a damn about her daughter if she didn’t follow orders.

She jumped off the bed and followed her dad downstairs, “Must be an interesting project,” her dad commented and as they entered into the kitchen Allison knew Victoria was out of town.

“Your mom’s out of town, visiting some family.” Allison nodded, even though she had a million questions and suspicions about Victoria’s absence.

“So, it’s just us?” Allison asked, hopefully.

“Just you and me, Ally,” Chris replied, ruffling her hair like he used to when she was younger. In a fit of nostalgia and love Allison hugged her dad tightly, “Hey,” Chris’ voice was soft, “Everything okay?”

Allison nodded, “Yeah, it is.”

As they sat down to eat, at the kitchen island rather than the formal dining room Allison decided to see if her dad knew anything about their family history, “Dad, what do you know about the Argent family history? Like not immediate family, but back farther than that?”

Chris paused, fork halfway to his mouth, “A bit, why do you want to know?”

“Well, that’s what I’m working on for school and,” Allison put down her fork for a moment to calm her shaking hand, “And, Kate,” the name tasted sour on her tongue, “suggested something about the Beast of Gevaudan, which was how she got me into everything,” Allison was still angry thinking about how she’d stood by and watched her aunt torture Derek.

“Allison,” Chris reached out a hand toward his daughter, waiting for her to take it before he continued, “What Kate did was inexcusable. It was against the code and I’m so sorry that’s how it happened. We, well, I” he corrected himself, “Didn’t want you to think that this is your only option. It’s not mine.”

Allison let out a breath, “I know. I know, I just,” she shook her head to clear it, “That’s not what I wanted to talk about. The Argent family history… what do you know?”

Her dad looked like he was going to argue that they discuss her issues with the crap Kate had put her through, but he held back, following her change of topic. “I know the first female Argent was a young French woman, Marie-Jeanne Valet. She was the one who killed the Beast of Gevaudan; it turned out that the beast was actually her brother,” Chris sighed, thinking not for the first time of the parallels with his own life. He would never regret taking down Kate to save Allison, never in a million years, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell his wife or his father just how it had happened yet. He knew Victoria suspected he was covering for one of the Hale’s in an attempt to keep the peace, and her insistence on revenge made her seem even more unhinged than usual to him.

“Apart from that though, I don’t know much,” Chris continued, he opened his mouth to say more then closed it.

“Dad?” Allison pressed him.

“About twenty years ago I was at an auction where they were auctioning off Marie’s private journal,” Chris grinned, “I was willing to go broke for it. Hunting can so easily bog us down, but there’s so much history and knowledge in it too.”

“What happened?”

“An anonymous bidder took it out of the game, even for me. One can only put up so much collateral.”

“Why did you want it so badly?”

“I felt like maybe there was something Marie had learned that could help me,” admitted Chris, “The way my father conducts business is very different from what I did then still do now, and I wanted to feel like my approach was validated by our ancestors or something. Definitely the feelings of a younger, more foolish man.”

“How much do you think the book is worth?”

“Priceless, Ally. It’s probably a wealth of supernatural information aside from all of the personal writings. Why so much interest in the book?”

“I need you to wait here,” Allison stated, dropping her utensils and running back up to her room for the journal. She didn’t know if what she was doing was the right thing, but she hoped it was.

“Allison?” Chris called after her, listening to his daughter run up the stairs and then back down them.

He moved their empty plates and cups to the side, looking at his daughter in confusion as she re-entered the kitchen, holding something tightly behind her back.

Instead of speaking, Allison just held out a book to him. Confused, Chris took it and when he flipped it over almost dropped it in shock. Flipping to the front page he traced the name on the inside and then scanning the first pages.

Allison watched her dad’s face shift from concerned to shocked to absolutely awed.

“How?” Chris breathed out his question, his voice strangled by his shock.

“Stiles.”

“The Sheriff’s kid?” Allison nodded. “Scott’s best friend?” Allison nodded again, holding her head a bit higher. “You’re back together aren’t you?” Chris asked, resignation in his voice taking over for his awe for a moment. Another nod. “I don’t understand,” Chris flipped over the book again as if expecting it to fall apart or have ‘lol’ stamped on the back cover.

“He gave it to me today. Said he was going to get Scott to give it to me, but since I was there, and I was trying to convince him we could be friends, he figured it was the logical next step.”

“You’re friends now?” Chris raised an eyebrow, sensing that his daughter was definitely building up to a bigger revelation than having a priceless Argent artifact in her possession.

“Well, we’re pack so I would expect that we should at least be friends.”

“Pack?” Chris choked out the word, “You’re pack?”

“Yes. They’re mine and I’m theirs. As the next Argent matriarch I have allied myself with the Hale Pack of Beacon Hills and they have accepted me.” Allison stood tall and proud in the kitchen, fierce, protective, and so very sure of her words. It made Chris’ heart ache.

“Ally,” Chris started to speak when Allison put up a hand.

“Victoria knows, or suspects. I heard her on the other line a few days ago telling Gerard that she would rather and I quote, eliminate all threats to the Argent legacy than try to keep me in line. I’ve made my decision, dad.”

Chris knew she meant it too. He also knew this meant that he had a decision to make, but to be honest, it wasn’t really much of a choice. He would always choose his daughter.

Then a thought occurred to him, “When Stiles gave you this, did he say anything else? Does he know what a gift like this to someone like you means?”

Allison looked a bit unnerved at her dad’s question, “No, dad, what?”

“Get your coat,” Chris said.

“Why?”

“Because I have some questions for Stiles.” Allison stepped in front of him as he made his way to the front door, “Ally, I choose you. I will always choose you. If you’re going pack then I’m at least pack adjacent, but I need answers before we make plans about how to handle the rest of our family.”

Allison narrowed her eyes, debating his words, then she nodded, “Thanks, dad.” He hugged her briefly then they grabbed their coats and left the house, driving toward the Stilinski residence.

\-----

“How was school, Mica?” John asked his son as they washed the dishes together. Stiles had arrived home minutes after him, looking drained, but a bit lighter.

“Fine,” Stiles answered on reflex, then jerked a bit at his word choice, “The pack was being… clingy, I guess.”

“I saw Scott drove you home today.”

“Yeah, I had a bit of freak-out in the parking lot and he offered me a lift.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

Stiles stopped drying the dish his dad had handed to him, “Did you talk to Scott?”

John had known this was coming. He knew Stiles would be frustrated with him, but privately, the Sheriff thought that was too bad because his son deserved looking after, even if he was sixteen.

“I did.”

Stiles groaned, leaning forward to rest his head against a cupboard door, “Why?”

“Because he’s supposed to be your best friend and he’s doing a shit job at the moment.”

“Dad, he’s just excited about being with Allison and everything. Okay well, maybe not the supernatural stuff, but I expected him to come back eventually.”

“Don’t fight me on this, Mischief,” John dried off his hands and turned to look at his son who was still leaning against the cupboard, “I will win. The people close to you need to step up their game and I have no problem calling them out for,” he paused, “myself included.”

Stiles looked up at that, “Dad, you, I thought I told you, I don’t need apologies or anything.”

“Too damn bad. You’re getting them.”

“I don’t need people feeling guilty or pitying me, Dad” Stiles said, trying to get his father to see his point of view.

“You just don’t want them to recognize that they did anything wrong, and while I think that’s mighty compassionate of you I’m going to go with no, on that one.”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

John pulled Stiles in for a hug, “Nope.”

“Fine, but Scott is trying.”

“Now, now he’s trying.”

“Well, it’s better than never.”

“He’s got shit to make up for, Mica.”

“You know you keep saying that, what are you talking about? Because you sound like you’ve got a pretty specific example in mind.”

Before John could respond a sharp series of knocks sounded at the front door.

“I’m not expecting anyone,” Stiles commented, “Plus, my puppies use windows more often than doors anyways.”

John huffed out a laughed and went to answer the door to find, “Chris? Allison?” Stiles asked from behind his dad, “Everything okay?”

“I need to have some words with your son, Sheriff.”

“Why?”

“Jesus, dad, just let them in,” Stiles gently bumped his dad to the side to let the Argents come into the living room, “I would offer you food, but we just finished dinner and I get the feeling that this isn’t exactly a social call.”

Chris didn’t waste any time, withdrawing the book from his jacket pocket and placing it onto the coffee table, “Where did you get it?”

Stiles settled onto the couch, pleasantly surprised when Allison sat down next to him, “Really, that’s your first question?”

John hovered for a moment, unsure of whether he had a place in this discussion then deciding that since Stiles was involved he was, the Sheriff settled into his armchair, gesturing for Chris to sit down too.

“A little shop run by someone whose name I will not give you in a location I will not reveal.”

John drew in a deep breath, his kid really was a little shit sometimes, but Chris seemed to accept the answer.

“How did you get it?”

“What are really fishing for with that one?”

“This journal is priceless.”

“Everything has a price. Everyone can be bought,” Stiles replied, the teasing tone he’d used a few seconds ago disappeared.

“What do I owe you for it then?”

“It’s not yours, it’s Allison’s. I gave it to her.”

“If I was to pay you back for it, what would it cost?” Allison asked, genuinely curious.

Stiles laughed lightly, “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Theoretically though,” Allison pressed Stiles.

“I made a trade for it.”

“What kind of trade?” John asked, voice concerned.

“Relax, dad. I didn’t dip into any savings accounts, I didn’t re-mortgage the house, and I didn’t do anything illegal” Stiles paused as if reflecting on his words, “for once.”

“That’s doesn’t answer my question, Stiles,” John replied, although his son’s words had somewhat reassured him.

“Knowledge. I made a trade with knowledge.”

“How much do you know?” Chris asked after a moment.

“How much do you know?” Stiles returned the question to him.

“Do you know what a gift like this can mean?”

“Ah,” Stiles sat up, turning to look Chris in the eyes, “You’re concerned about it being a treaty or alliance gift?”

Chris nodded.

Stiles shook his head, “Firstly, I would never try to trick someone into an alliance with the pack. Secondly, I wouldn’t ever try to fool Allison, because she can be scary,” Allison laughed and shoved Stiles who smiled back, and “Thirdly, there’s no need for a treaty gift because she’s pack. Fourthly, and finally, Derek would have to be there for the exchange of an alliance gift.”

Stiles settled back against the couch, while Chris appeared to take in his words.

“Thank you. You have no idea what this,” he tapped the book, “means to me.”

“I think I've got an idea,” Stiles responded, “So, we good here?”

“Yeah, Stiles, we’re good,” Chris replied, shaking his head a bit at the situation he found himself in at the moment.

“Well, that was dramatic for no damn reason,” Allison muttered and Stiles shook his head at her, a small smile on his face.

“Welcome, to the Hale pack,” Stiles replied and they both grinned shyly at each other.


	19. Stiles, I need you to say the words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Melissa reminisce about Scott&Stiles from back in the day, which leads to a revelation for Scott and a frantic phone call to Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.

Scott pulled up to his house happy the rain had stopped long enough for him to run back to school from the Stilinski house to get the car. He whistled off key under his breath as he opened the door, calling out a “Hey Mom!” when the smell of saltwater hit his nose.

“Mom?” Scott called again, walking with purpose toward the kitchen where his mom was standing at the stove watching what looked like soup heat up. Melissa had changed out of her scrubs from earlier but her tears hadn’t stopped when she’d changed her clothes. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she was clutching a mug of tea that had long since gone cold.

“Mom, why were you crying?” Scott came up to stand right beside his mom, pulling her in for a gentle hug, “Are you okay?”

Melissa put down her mug as Scott drew back to look at her, his face concerned and so puppy like she had to laugh. It came out as more of a watery cough, but her son had made her feel marginally better.

“I had a… John drove me home earlier and it didn’t go well,” Melissa sighed and pushed off from leaning against the counter to turn down the heat on the stove.

Scott’s brow furrowed. He was torn because he understood that the Sheriff was angry, especially with those who said they were looking out for Stiles when they weren’t, but this was also his mom, his rock. Before he could decide how to react Melissa spoke again, “It’s not like I didn’t expect it, Scott. This isn’t on you. I chose to not pull John into the loop.”

“But mom, I was the one who asked you…”

Melissa cut him off, putting up a hand “I’m the adult here, Scott.”

She turned off the stove, and Scott went to grab some bowls. They ate quickly and in relative silence, but when Scott went to clear the table Melissa stopped him. He sat back down, and leaned in when she tugged him into a side hug, holding him fiercely as if her love could protect him and them from anything.

“How bad is he, Scott? How bad is it?” Melissa murmured her question quietly as she hugged him.

Scott pulled away slowly “It’s, before today I probably would have said it wasn’t that bad, but after today,” he shook his head “It’s really bad, mom. I think the Sheriff’s right to be worried.”

“I think all four of us should sit down, soon” Melissa spoke slowly, “Although I suppose John and I should be able to sit in a room without issues before that happens.”

“I’m trying with Stiles, mom, but… I have a lot to make up for.”

“We both do, but we’ll do it together, okay?”

Scott nodded and hugged his mom again, his wolf settling again in proximity to his mother.

“I love you, mom.”

“I love you too, Scott.”

After pressing a kiss to Scott’s head, they separated and Scott set about washing the dishes, his mom waiting beside him to dry them.

“I’m back with Allison,” Scott said after a few moments of silence.

He could feel his mom’s surprise, “Really?”

Scott nodded “But she knows that I need to fix things with Stiles first. She’s making what Stiles would probably call ‘friendly overtures’ to him too.”

“And it’s going well?”

“It has only been a day or two, but I guess so… and she’s pack now so, it makes sense that we should all at least be friendly if not close, right?”

“Allison’s pack? Because of you?”

Scott shook his head “A few months ago I probably would have assumed that, but no, I’m not that dumb. She made the decision for the future of the Argent clan,” he paused, “not that they know that yet. I do think she’ll tell her dad though.”

“Is that safe?”

“Allison trusts him.”

“And you?”

“I trust Allison. And Stiles. He doesn’t think Chris is a threat the same way the rest of the family are.”

“You’ll keep me updated?”

“Yeah, I will” Scott dried his hands and turned toward his mom, suddenly finding his hands super interesting, “I haven’t always been good at that, have I?”

“Well,” Melissa responded drawing out the syllables in the word, making Scott grin and look up at her, “I’m not saying there isn’t room for improvement.” Scott nodded, shaking his head at her and then, after another quick hug he went upstairs to work on his homework.

Melissa made herself another cup of tea, lavender and mint, soothing and settling; she tried to remember when she’d bought something that wasn’t a no name brand when she recalled that the fancy tea had been a gift from Stiles after a particularly bad supernatural week. He’d just left the box on her table, and when she’d questioned Scott about it he’d told her it smelled of Stiles, but wasn’t dangerous. She’d opened it to see not only the tea, but a note thanking her for patching them up all the time.

She picked up her tea thinking about Stiles’ kindness, and how he’d distracted her from thanking him the next time she’d seen him. Melissa settled herself in the living room with a few photo albums and started flicking through memories from when Stiles had first met Scott.

After an hour or two, Scott’s feet sounded on the stairs again “Mom, you okay?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, I’m good.”

Scott came to sit next to her on the couch “What’re you looking at?”

“Photos of you and Stiles.”

“Remember this one?” Scott asked, pointing to a photo that had been taken a little over seven years ago, it had been taken when Scott had had an intense asthma attack after Stiles had passed out with a really bad fever at school. They’d ended up in side by side hospital beds and at one point, before John had finally been able to make it to the hospital, Scott had crawled into Stiles bed to keep watch over his friend.

“John said something today, about things happening to Stiles after Claudia, things that he did… that would have been around this time. I always wondered how his fever got so bad; why didn’t he stay home?” Melissa’s voice was quiet, unsure that she wanted to pursue the line of thinking her mind was coming up with, “Do you know what he might be talking about, Scott?”

Her son bit his lip, seemingly wracking his brain for anything; he opened his mouth then closed it again.

“Scott?”

“Dad said something to me once, something about how the Sheriff wasn’t looking after Stiles and that I should stop hanging out with him because drunks’ kids often end up as troublemakers.”

Melissa felt a shiver go down her spine.

“I remember asking Stiles if everything was okay and he was so defensive. I took it as him being honest, but I don’t know if he was telling the truth. I haven’t smelled alcohol in the house though since I turned… except”

“Scott?”

“There was a morning where Stiles tried to keep me out of the house but eventually, he couldn’t keep me outside any longer and the kitchen smelled like bleach. He told me he’d been cleaning the cupboard and dropped a bottle of his dad’s whisky. He lied, but I didn’t think it was that important, I thought maybe he’d snuck a bottle or something and needed to cover his tracks.”

Melissa sighed heavily, closing the album and placing it on the coffee table “Sweetheart, I need you to think now… Did Stiles ever have bruises or injuries that he couldn’t explain? Remember how he used to look when his mom was sick?”

Scott nodded, then his entire body froze and his eyes went wide “Did his mom,” he flexed his fingers, feeling the tips of his claws “Did she hurt him?”

Melissa looked at him “I thought he would've...”

“You thought he’d tell me?” Scott laughed hollowly, “Wait? You don’t think his dad?”

Melissa sighed again “I don’t know, Scott.”

“Well, then I need to ask him!” Scott jumped up from the couch, intent on running over to Stiles' at that moment, the only thing that prevented him was his mom putting herself in his path.

“Scott! Scott!” she stood still as Scott worked to get himself under control “I’m not saying anything, but I just need facts. I don’t think John would bring something like that up in front of me knowing my duty as a health-care professional to report it, but he was angry and scared. I just want the facts.”

Scott was still breathing heavily but he was back from the precipice between human and shifted.

“I don’t know, I don’t know, mom,” he was shaking, “Mom, I need to know that he’s okay, that he’s safe there. I can’t…”

“Scott, it’s late…” Melissa trailed off, she was anxious too. On the one hand, she didn’t want to believe that John was capable of hurting Stiles, but he’d already alluded to something in the car, “Call him, don’t give him too many specifics, but just check in, okay? You'd be able to tell if he's lying over the phone right, with your hearing?”

Scott nodded after a moment of hesitation, pulling out his phone and pressing 1. Stiles was always his first call. After two rings, he could feel his anxiety mounting again and his mom’s nerves weren’t helping him at all either.

“Scott, you okay?” Stiles’ voice came through the phone and Scott found himself whining in relief, “Scott?” Stiles’ voice was more alert than it had been moments ago, “Where are you? Are you okay?”

Scott pulled his wolf under control “I’m, I’m okay. Stiles. I’m at home. Pineapple,” a laugh came through the phone.

“Ugh, Scott, that was the worst code word we ever came up with, we retired because of its lameness, remember?” Stiles sounded tired but okay, still Scott needed to hear him say it.

“I, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m home, Scott, what kind of trouble could I get into here?”

“So, you’re safe?”

“Again, buddy, I’m home. In my room. Not out chasing supernatural creatures.”

“Stiles, I need you to say the words.”

“Scott, you’re freaking me out a bit. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Stiles, can you just, tell me if you’re safe, please?” the whine was back in Scott’s voice and Stiles wanted to do anything he could to make his friend feel better, “Yeah, Scotty, I’m safe.”

Scott listened, and let out a deep breath as Stiles’ heartrate stayed calm.

“Want to tell me what that was about?”

“I just needed to check on you,” Scott responded, not willing to go into the reasoning for his freak-out over the phone.

“Is this going to be a nightly occurrence? Because I’m about to go to sleep, Scott.”

“I don’t think so, my wolf’s just a bit unsettled right now, sorry…”

“Hey, hey,” Stiles soothed Scott, “It’s all good. I know checking on pack is a thing. I should probably let you go to check on everyone else." Stiles paused, then murmured, "Thanks for calling, goodnight Scott.”

“Night, Stiles.”

Melissa watched her son hang up “Well, now he thinks I’m getting an urge to check on the whole pack, but maybe that’s good. Maybe he’ll let me check on him more if he thinks it’s something I need,” Scott rambled then shook his head to clear it “No, I’m not going to lie to him.” Looking to his mom he told her that Stiles hadn’t appeared to be lying, and while he knew in his heart that if anyone could learn how to lie to a werewolf it would be Stiles, he had to hope that his best friend was telling him the truth or else he’d run over to the Stilinski house right now and take Stiles away.

“Stiles is coming for dinner tomorrow night,” Scott remembered making the offer earlier in the day.

“I think I’ll go see John then, you two can eat here and I can get some answers, okay?”

“Mom, what if…?”

“We’ll take care of him, if it comes down to that, Scott. I promise you that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, it is my personal headcanon that the Sheriff never systematically hurt Stiles physically. I think he probably got very angry; he broke things, maybe even threw things at Stiles, but aside from one instance, he never touched Stiles violently. Most of Stiles's issues stem from the emotional weight and pain of what he has internalized over the years.


	20. Protective Scott Activated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott's protectiveness is turned up to eleven, which means he's jumping to a few conclusions. Isaac and Scott bond a bit over Stiles.
> 
> The Sheriff gets angry at himself.
> 
> *See the end note on the previous chapter for more context.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf

Scott was up and out of the house, calling a goodbye to his mom, earlier than he ever had the next morning. He’d texted Stiles before he went to sleep asking for a ride to school due to a busted chain on his bike, and his friend had sent him a thumbs up emjoi before wishing him goodnight for the second time. He ran over to the Stilinski house faster than he’d expected, but then found himself pausing outside of the front door. He’d never knocked before, much like Stiles never knocked when coming over to his place but he wasn’t sure if he was back into Stiles’ good books enough to just waltz into the house. His decision was made for him when the door opened to reveal John, already in his uniform, seemingly intent on picking up the paper on the porch.

“Hey Scott,” the Sheriff greeted the teen, being friendly enough, but Scott could sense the man’s wariness around him. Well, that morning Scott was wary too. He couldn’t get over the fact that Stiles’ mom had abused him and he’d never known, so no matter how much he liked the Sheriff he had to be wary. He nodded at the Sheriff, whose eyes narrowed slightly at him but before either of them could say or do anything Stiles’ voice interrupted them.

“You coming in, Scotty?” he called as he came down the stairs, jumping the last three and turning to walk into the kitchen.

“Yeah, course.” Scott made sure to brush shoulders with John to remind the man that he was stronger now too. John didn’t react, but picked up the paper and shut the door, following Scott into the kitchen.

Stiles slid a plate of food over the counter to his dad when he appeared, an egg white omelette with tomato, cheese, and “Is this real bacon?” John asked, fixing his son with a look that was part surprise and part suspicion.

“Half-real, half-turkey. You won’t know the difference,” quipped Stiles from his spot by the stove as he concentrated on the other two omelettes he’d started making even though Scott had tried to tell him he ate. His friend’s stomach had growled at that exact moment and Scott had resigned himself to an awesome Stiles breakfast in the company of John. At least it gave him time to observe them together.

Stiles slid him his own plate soon after, turning off the stove as he grabbed a glass of orange juice that stood off to the side next to a plate with what looked like the remains of Stiles’ own breakfast. “Already ate?” Scott asked. Stiles nodded, then set about quickly washing and drying the dishes.

“So, what’s on the docket at the station today?” Stiles asked curiously, not looking at his dad as he finished putting away the spatula and pan he’d used.

Before last weekend his dad would have made some comment about Stiles’ ulterior motives and inappropriate interests, but today he didn’t. “We haven’t had anything new since the kanima attacks so probably just finishing up that paperwork. Jackson is going to be okay right?”

Stiles nodded, “Yeah, the pack he’s going to in London has a good reputation. Derek and I have both spoken to them on the phone and Skype. Peter visited them when he was younger too.”

“When did you have time to arrange that?” asked the Sheriff.

“The time difference helps.” Stiles shrugged.

“Making phone calls in the middle of the night…”

“On Derek’s phone plan.” Stiles interjected.

“When were you at Derek’s in the middle of the night?” The room flooded with tension. John was anxious with an undercurrent of anger cutting through his emotions while Stiles just seemed on edge, almost scared. His friend’s fear of what Scott could only assume was his father’s anger did nothing to settle Scott’s worries about the Stilinski men.

“Last Tuesday and Wednesday,” Stiles replied, his heartbeat steady.

“And where was I?” John asked, the undercurrent of anger growing stronger, outweighing the anxiety. Stiles’ fear seemed to increase too and Scott felt like growling at John. He set his plate down to stop himself from breaking it.

“You were looking into the latest attacks and then the aftermath of everything on Tuesday,” Stiles spoke calmly, completely at odds with the galloping rate at which his heart was beating, “That’s your job, dad."

Just then John’s phone rang, and knowing now that Scott could hear his calls in close proximity he answered it, then asked Tara to give him a moment. He pushed away his plate, not looking at the boys before heading down to his office.

Stiles’ heart rate slowed slightly, but it was still too fast for Scott’s liking. He reached out a hand to his friend, and seemingly on instinct Stiles, flinched. Scott pulled back his hand, “Sorry, bro, lacrosse reflex, you know.” Stiles started to ramble and he quickly loaded the dishes into the dishwasher, grabbing his school bag, looking down the hall to his dad’s office for a moment before heading out the door, Scott following him albeit unwilling. What Scott wanted more than anything at the moment was to have a talk with John Stilinski.

He texted his mom his updates as Stiles locked the house and pulled the jeep out of the drive way, then he put his phone away to watch his best friend, who did his best not to meet his eyes for the duration of the drive to school.

The moment they pulled into the parking lot, Stiles turned to say something to Scott when Erica appeared at his window, knocking on the door. Stiles hitched a smile onto his face and slid out of the jeep to greet Erica, Boyd, and Isaac. As Erica dragged Stiles toward the school Scott muttered, “Isaac,” to get the attention of his fellow beta.

Isaac slowed marginally giving Scott a weird look. Scott knew they weren’t exactly close, but they were pack, and Isaac was the only other person he felt he could ask to look out for Stiles given his personal history. Scott felt a bit shitty for talking to Isaac one on one for the first time since they really became pack about the other beta’s awful father, but this was Stiles and he was important to Scott.

“What’s up, McCall?”

“Do you have a free period now?” Isaac nodded slowly, “Can we talk somewhere?”

Isaac sized Scott up and seemed to consider his fellow beta before asking “Why?”

“It’s about Stiles.”

Isaac nodded and led Scott over to the lacrosse field where no one would be until next period. Isaac leaned against the bleachers, “What about Stiles?”

Scott tapped his fingers against his thigh, nerves spiking, catching Isaac’s attention. “What is eating you, McCall?”

“Have you noticed, Stiles being hurt or injured at all lately? Things we can’t explain away by the stuff we get into?” Scott rushed his words out.

Isaac didn’t respond at first but when he did he was serious and calm “What are you saying, McCall?”

“I think… I don’t know… I just need… Have you?”

“Now you’re rambling like him,” commented Isaac who nonetheless put a hand on Scott’s shoulder to help settle his packmate, “You think someone’s hurting him?”

“I don’t know… I don’t know.”

“You think it’s the Sheriff,” Scott snapped his eyes to Isaac, “You came to me. You’re freaking the hell out too.”

“Do you think…? Have you noticed something?”

“I haven’t sensed anything, but then again I haven’t been looking for it,” Isaac replied, “but I will now, okay. I’ve got your back, McCall. Stiles is important to all of us.”

“Thanks, Isaac.”

“You’re pack, Scott; it comes with the territory, at least that’s what I’m told.” Isaac shrugged and smirked at Scott “Now, let’s get inside and eavesdrop on the principal’s office, you can learn fascinating stuff.”


	21. Don’t defend it, Stiles!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles cooks for Scott. Scott confronts Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.
> 
> *So damn angsty. I want to be sorry, but I'm not. It'll get better; I promise.  
> Work Text:

The rest of the day was a bit of a blur. The pack ate together at lunch and eventually, when the final bell rang the boys made their way to the locker room to change for lacrosse practice. Scott and Isaac both tried to keep an eye on Stiles, who seemingly unaware of their attention still made the decision to change near Boyd, which kept him out of their line of sight. He wasn’t out of Boyd’s view though and it was the quiet beta who asked Stiles where he’d gotten the scrapes on his arms, both Isaac and Scott listening in as Stiles mumbled out that he’d broken something over the weekend.

“I didn’t notice them on Sunday,” Boyd commented.

“Well, I don’t just wear flannel for its warmth or style, it covers up all the stupid crap I end up doing. You know, drawing on my arm in class and shit,” replied Stiles, his heartbeat not skipping a beat, but his response was far from reassuring for the rest of the pack.

Just then Coach called them all onto the field and Stiles ducked out of the locker room before Scott could ask him anything. He met Isaac’s eyes, the other beta looked thoughtful “What is it?” Scott asked as he and Isaac ran out onto the field.

“He wasn’t lying. It might not be someone else hurting him you know,” Isaac commented, before breaking off from Scott to take his place in the drills line up next to Stiles and Boyd.

The thought of Stiles hurting himself made Scott even more anxious, and his head was definitely elsewhere throughout practise. At one point, Boyd, seemingly taking mercy on Scott shadowed him during one of their plays, keeping Scott from running into his teammates and missing obvious shots.

“What the hell’s up with you, man?” Boyd asked as they headed back to the locker room, Isaac and Stiles having gone ahead.

“I’m just worried about Stiles,” admitted Scott.

“Well, you’re no use to him distracted,” Boyd commented then clapped his packmate on the shoulder before heading into the locker room, “Besides, he still has us if you can’t figure your shit out soon” the beta called back, tone somewhat taunting.

With that Scott glowered at the other wolf and followed him to the showers, “I’m not even near giving up yet,” growled Scott.

“Good to know,” Boyd replied, a smirk on his lips.

As they walked toward Stiles’ jeep, finally having said goodbye to the rest of the pack Scott’s phone rang. Stiles paused, fidgeting with his keys as Scott answered the phone.

“Hey sweetheart,” Melissa’s voice came through, tired but determined to Scott’s senses, “I’m off in about an hour and I figured I’ll stop by to see John after I’m done for the day,” she paused, “I got your texts from this morning, but I think we need to be careful about this, okay? If we’re off the mark this could really hurt both of them.”

“I know, mom,” Scott replied, wishing for a moment that Stiles wasn’t right beside him so he could share his fear that maybe Stiles was hurting himself. He still wasn’t happy with how scared Stiles had been that morning with his dad though. Stiles’ eyes looked up from the ground to meet Scott’s when he said the word, mom. Scott cursed himself, Stiles had probably figured Allison had called and that he was going to cancel their plans.

“Look mom, we’re just heading to our place right now so call if you need anything okay?”

“He’s standing right there with you, isn’t he?” Melissa’s voice was both fond and anxious, “Okay, well, tell him I’m heading to his place to check him over after the wolfsbane incident on Friday; I wouldn’t mind making sure he’s in one piece. Give him a hug from me.”

“Will do, Mom.”

“Love you, Scott.”

“Love you too, Mom.” Scott ended the call and then pulled a distracted Stiles into a hug. His friend flailed for a moment before getting his bearings.

“Pretty sure, I haven’t said anything to merit this, Scotty.” Stiles was more than happy to be hugged, but he wasn’t sure why it was happening, which made him uncomfortable.

“From my mom,” Scott said, squeezing his friend just a bit tighter then letting him go and taking their lacrosse equipment and tossing it into the back of the jeep. Stiles seemed a bit off balance, but then shrugged and threw himself into the driver’s seat, Scott sliding in next to him and they drove off to the McCall house.

It was weird, only for a moment, when Stiles set foot in the McCall house for the first time in several months for a reason that didn’t include a supernatural creature terrorizing the town. Then Scott bundled him over the threshold and pulled him into the kitchen where he stood for a moment, head cocked, he hadn’t actually thought about what dinner would be. Stiles rolled his eyes at his friend and set about grabbing various things from the fridge, throwing together a pasta dish that smelled delicious.  
Scott tried to protest at first, saying that Stiles didn’t need to cook “It makes me feel useful, Scott.” The rest of his protests died on his lips, watching as his friend moved about the kitchen with a grace he rarely showed elsewhere.

“When did you learn to cook?” Scott asked, genuinely curious, thinking back over the years and how Stiles just knew how to do some things that Scott didn’t. Some of those things were more embarrassing than others. The day Scott had tried to do the laundry on his own at ten and had only been saved from bleaching his clothes by Stiles.

Stiles shrugged absently, but Scott could tell his question had made his friend a bit uncomfortable. Normally, Scott would just start talking about something else, but he didn’t want to be that type of friend anymore.

“Seriously, did you like take classes or something? I feel like I would have remembered you not being around to play video games one night a week or whatever.”

“Nah, I didn’t take lessons,” Stiles replied, stirring his sauce and turning down the burner, “My mom used to cook a lot. I watched; it was like the only time I sat still as a kid probably.”

“Did you cook with her?” Scott asked, knowing that talking about Claudia could be dangerous territory, especially considering what his mom had revealed to him the other night.

“No, I was a bit too accident prone at that age to be much help in the kitchen.”

Scott’s brow furrowed in confusion then “But then how did you get so good?”

“Practise,” Stiles replied easily and vaguely.

Unbidden an image floated to the front of Scott’s mind of a cake Stiles had brought to his house when he had turned twelve. It had been chocolate and vanilla swirl, because Scott never could decide between the two flavours with an icing that had been lighter than a cloud. It had been heavenly and both boys had spent the afternoon eating it and playing video games. So, when his next birthday had rolled around he’d begged him mom to get him another one from the bakery in town only to discover that they didn’t make cakes like that and he’d been so upset.

But, Stiles had turned up again with another awesome cake for his thirteenth birthday, both of their parents working late shifts. Stiles had told him that the cake had come from somewhere in town but he’d never been specific.

“You make my birthday cakes,” Scott said, the fondness in his voice coming through as he looked at Stiles who blushed lightly, but kept stirring his sauce, “There was no super secret bakery hook up in town.”

‘Well, technically, that wasn’t a lie,” Stiles replied, his shoulders hunching in a bit.

“You rock, bro” Scott stated.

Stiles flicked his eyes up to look and Scott then, rolled his eyes “You’re too easily pleased, Scotty.”

As Stiles started actually portioning out the dinner he’d made as well as packing up the rest, attaching instructions for reheating to some Tupperware and sticking it in the fridge for Melissa Scott’s phone dinged. His mom was just getting off her shift and expected to be at the Stilinski house in around thirty minutes after she changed and sorted out some paperwork.

“Mom’s just finishing up her shift,” he told Stiles, wanting his friend to know that he did in fact have his full attention.

“It has been hectic all around for them recently,” Stiles commented, which gave Scott an in to ask about his dad.

“How’s your dad dealing with all of this?”

Stiles shrugged, “Better than I expected,” he toyed with his food, not really eating it.

“He seemed tense this morning,” Scott tried to keep his tone casual.

“Yeah, well, I guess that comes from all the shit I’ve put him through,” murmured Stiles seeming to forget that Scott’s enhanced hearing could pick up his words, “He’s trying really hard, Scott” was what Stiles said at a normal volume.

“I believe you, Stiles” Scott noticed Stiles’ anxiety spike at the word ‘believe’ again just like it had when Lydia had said it the other day “I just want to be sure that you’re okay while you’re trying to look after everyone else.”

Stiles just nodded and murmured something about how helping people kept him out of trouble and then tried to continue eating but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to chew his food. Scott, who’d already started on his second plate of food could tell his friend was uncomfortable with this conversational turn too. Then something occurred to Scott as he looked at his almost empty plate and ran over the last few minutes of their conversation in his head “Is that why you learned to cook?”

“What?”

“To look after your dad,” Scott felt anger bubble up from deep inside himself, imagining his best friend, barely eight making food for his father who should have been looking after him, not the other way around “My mom stopped bringing over food about two months after the funeral, she said your dad had gotten a handle on things. That things were being kept together well enough considering,” Scott stated, recalling the conversation he’d overhead between his parents.

Stiles had stopped eating altogether, his shoulders slumped forward “Look, Scott…”

“Don’t, don’t defend it, Stiles! Please, god,” Scott pleaded with his friend.

“So, I stepped up okay? What’s the problem with that, Scott?” Stiles’ shoulders tensed as he spoke, but his eyes, fixed on a point behind Scott were tired.

“You were eight, Stiles!” Scott almost roared back, his anger getting the better of him. His friend flinched back from his words, so similar to the ones his father had spoken to him when he’d admitted to thinking he played a part in his mother’s death.

Stiles flinch made Scott think about the conversation his mom would be having with John in a matter of minutes. “Stiles,” Scott, reigned his wolf in and brought his tone back to a normal volume, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled, I just, man, you’ve got to know that wasn’t okay, that wasn’t normal.”

“Normal is just a word, Scott” Stiles said, voice still tired but he went to clear their dishes, trying to redirect the conversation they were having. Scott tried to wrap his mind around Stiles’ resignation to what had happened as Stiles turned back from the dishwasher he found himself cornered by Scott in the kitchen. “I’m all good, Scott, okay? It taught me some discipline. I learned to look after myself. It wasn’t like it was abuse.”

“It was neglectful, Stiles,” Scott protested, then he asked, “Was there?”

“Was there what, Scott?” Stiles looked at his friend in an unimpressed manner, barely keeping his anxiety under control.

“Abuse.” The moment the word left his lips he felt a shiver of fear flash through Stiles, but then it was replaced by anger.

“What the hell, Scott?!” Stiles made to push his friend away from him, shocked by the teen’s implication.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Scott stayed still, keeping Stiles where he was.

“Why the hell would you ask me that? When have I given any indication that…” Stiles spit out his words, venom in his voice. Several months ago, Scott would have let it go, but now, now he was going to stand his ground.

“When you didn’t tell me, or anyone else about your mom,” Scott spoke quietly, aiming to keep his tone soothing, but his words caused more cold fear to wash over Stiles, before the heat of his friend’s anger returned.

“No one knows about that, except…” things started to add up in Stiles’ head, from the phone call the night before to Melissa’s mysterious absence from her own house despite the fact that her shift had ended well over half an hour ago “Where is your mom, Scott?” Stiles’ voice was cold.

“At your house,” replied Scott “She wanted to make sure you were okay after last weekend,” his voice still aiming to be calming and soft, “Stiles, if something’s happening, you need to…”

The rest of Scott’s words were cut off as Stiles suddenly leaned forward, and Scott relaxed his stance to catch his friend who, suddenly righted himself and in that moment of surprise, hooked his leg around Scott’s ankle and sent the werewolf sprawling against the counter. Stiles darted for the door, not looking back, he had to get to his house before Melissa. He threw himself in his jeep, watching as Scott got to the door, a little slower due to the sprained ankle he’d given him, but then Stiles was gone. Scott pulled his phone out, dialing his mom to warn her, but he only got her voicemail. Scott ran after his friend, following Stiles’ erratic and panicked heartbeat with one ear as he did so.


	22. I still need you, daddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is pissed at Melissa and Scott. But do they have reason to be concerned?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.

A few minutes earlier at the Stilinski home  
\---   
Melissa had spent more time than she would like to admit sitting in her car in the hospital parking lot psyching herself up to drive over to John’s house. She probably would have spent another twenty minutes sitting in driveway parked next two John’s cruiser, but her headlights had passed by the living room and she had no doubt he knew there was someone parked outside. She passed by the recycling bin on her way to the door, pausing for a moment to count the number of whisky bottles, then she squared her shoulders, her resolve solidified and knocked on the door.

When John opened the door the last person he had expected to find on the other side of it was Melissa, but her jaw was set and he knew he wouldn’t turn her away, no matter how angry he was, they were in this together.

He stepped back to let her in. “I didn’t expect soon to mean so soon,” quipped the Sheriff, trying to lighten the mood a bit. Mel’s face stayed stoic though, “I won’t overstay my welcome, John but I have some questions that need answers.”

John nodded, “Do you want them answered here in the entryway?” When Melissa shook her head he led her to the kitchen, offering her a drink of water, which she politely declined. They stood on opposite sides of the kitchen, leaning against separate counters and Mel couldn’t stop the parallels from that day she’d come over to help Claudia filter through her mind.   
“You said something yesterday, about things that happened to Stiles after Claudia, things you did. I need to know if he’s safe here, John.”

Of all the things Melissa could have said, John had not anticipated this, “Excuse me?”

“There are over half a dozen whisky bottles in your recycling, John. You heard me, I need to know what happened and if Stiles is safe here.”

“Stiles and I are sorting out my past issues, things I’ve said that hurt him, but none of that requires your interference.”

Melissa glared at him, “Is he safe here with you or not, John? I’m giving you a chance here.”

“What exactly are you implying, Melissa?”

“We both know that Stiles would do anything to protect you. He covered for Claudia for who the hell knows how long!” Melissa raised her voice, tone fierce “Have you hurt him, John? That’s what I’m asking. Have you hurt your son?”

She had expected him to yell back, not for him to slump his shoulders and look so utterly destroyed “I don’t know, Mel. I don’t know.”

“John…”

“He didn’t tell me anything, but we both know that means nothing. I don’t know!” his voice cracked, “Oh, god, what if I have?”

At that moment both of them heard tires squeal on the street, both of them snapping to attention, and moving into the hallway, confrontation forgotten when the front door flew open heralding the arrival of Stiles who looked thunderous. Scott appeared just seconds later making a move to follow Stiles when his friend turned to actually growl at him, stunning Scott into stillness.

“I think it’s time you left, Melissa” Stiles’ voice was clipped as he made his way over to the two adults, situating himself between Mel and his father, eyes cold and challenging.

Melissa wouldn’t back down though, “Stiles, I know you think what you’re doing is right, but I have a duty to you…”

Stiles scoffed, lightly and lowly in his throat, “You have no right, to come here and make accusations. None, Melissa. Do you understand me? Leave.”

“Stiles,” Scott whined as he moved slowly from the door, “Stiles, if it’s not true then just tell me. Unless you can lie to me?” He said the last bit as if he was merely thinking out loud.

“Yeah, that’s how I’ve spent my time since you’ve been turned, Scott. Not keeping us alive, but learning how to lie to you.”

“Then tell me it’s not true, and we’ll leave.”

“Get out, Scott,” Stiles ground out the words, gnashing his teeth unintentionally.

“Mica,” John spoke quietly from behind his son, “Mica, you have to tell them if something happened. I… we need to know.”

“No, you don’t,” Stiles replied, fear overtaking his other emotions, and Scott could feel the cold terror wrapping around his friend.

“Stiles,” Melissa stepped forward, seeing the young man in front of her panicking, she reached out a hand to cup his cheek, “Sweetheart, you need to be honest with us.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” Stiles stuttered out, taking an unconscious step back while also flicking his fingers, his father’s arms coming up to support him.

“Mica, please,” John crooned, softly, just like he had in that examination room eight years ago when Stiles had refused Melissa’s help after Claudia’s attack.

“No, no, you promised you would stay. I still need you, daddy,” Stiles’ words were fast, terror evident in his tone, his body still frozen only supported by John. He clutched at his father’s hands, the room spinning, he needed his dad.

“Stiles?” Scott’s worried voice made it through the cacophony of Stiles’ thudding heart and then he heard the question again, the truth, they wanted the truth. Maybe the truth would make all of this stop, “Once,” he heard his voice say, “Only once, didn’t mean it, please don’t leave, daddy, I’m sorry.” The litany of pleas and apologies dropped off when Stiles’ body seemed to reject his current state of consciousness and he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I know that this is tagged with 'Good Parent Sheriff Stilinski' and that this chapter ends with the revelation that the Sheriff hurt Stiles physically once. I am not endorsing physical abuse or saying that physical abuse makes someone a good parent. I tagged it 'Good Parent Sheriff Stilinski' because he wants to know if he hurt Stiles, he puts Stiles' best interest ahead of something that could compromise his job and livelihood. He wants Stiles safe above all else.


	23. The Stiles Files: What Scott Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and the Sheriff exchange notes from their Stiles files. Scott speaks first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf

Work Text:  
The second Stiles went slack, John pulled him close, and brought him to the living room couch. He then stepped back, hovering as Melissa checked over his son’s vital signs and Scott paced behind the couch, alternating between glaring at John and looking concernedly at Stiles’ limp form.

“The panic made him pass out; his vital signs are all normal,” Melissa said breaking the tense silence in the room.

Both John and Scott let out sighs of relief, but neither of them took comfort in their shared relief. All John could think of were Stiles’ final words, his apologies, his fear, and his confession. He could feel the anger at himself lap at the edges of his mind. Scott’s nose flared, “You weren’t angry at him this morning, you were angry at yourself,” the teen wolf stated, catching and holding John’s gaze. The Sheriff nodded jerkily. “Well, he didn’t know that!” spat out Scott, “He was damn well terrified.”

Scott took in a few deep breaths, controlling his wolf, halting his pacing so that he could perch on the arm of the couch and place one hand on Stiles’ chest, the steady beating anchoring him. “But he was nowhere near as terrified as he was a few minutes ago” Scott ground out each word as if they were causing him physical pain to speak, “when he thought you were going to be taken away from him.” He fixed John with his glowing eyes, “I don’t know what you can do to make this up to him, but you’ll do it. And you won’t give him any reason to think that you’ll abandon him, ever again.” The last two words were accompanied by a threatening growl.

John met Scott’s eyes squarely, something his wolf respected begrudgingly, and nodded. The Sheriff’s right hand went to grip the back of his own neck, a nervous tick Stiles had picked up from him, and sank, shakily to the ground next to his son. “I didn’t know, I swear…” Scott knew he was telling the truth and after nodding at his mom to verify John’s statement, Melissa knelt down next to her friend, reaching out to grip his free hand “We know.”

“God, if I had known, I would have told you, I would have turned myself in” John rambled.

“Why didn’t he tell anyone?” Scott inquired, “After his mom,” John choked out a sob but the teen continued, not sparing time for John’s feelings at the moment “he had to know he could tell people?” His words hung as a question.

John was the one to answer, “Over the weekend, he basically told me he thought he deserved what,” he swallowed thickly, “what Claudia did to him. He felt, still feels, responsible for her death apparently. I told him, I told him he never deserves to be hurt, ever and he just looked at me and told me he loved me. He thanked me. Goddammit!” John reared back from the floor, moving away from Melissa and Scott, his hands were shaking.

“What else did you learn?” Melissa asked John.

He turned back to her confused by the question. “He’s not going to be forthcoming with anything, John. The more we know, the better we can protect him going forward.”

“Isn’t that compromising his privacy though, mom?” Scott commented, “I’m not saying no, I just... he’s going to be pissed.”

“Well, he came just damn well deal with being looked after for once,” replied the Sheriff gruffly.

“Yeah, that’s definitely not something he’s used to,” interjected Scott, allowing a slight growl to slip in alongside the words.

“Scott…” Melissa started to reprimand her son, but John put up a hand, “You’re right, kid.”

“Why don’t we start with what we know, go over things for triggers etc.?” Melissa asked the others.

“Give me moment,” John whispered and he slipped down into his office, appearing not thirty seconds later with a file folder.

Against his wishes, Scott felt his lips twitch up in the ghost of a smile “A Stiles file?”

John mirrored Scott’s ghost smile, nodding.

“I’ve got a mental one,” Scott stated, “It’s probably shorter.”

“Why don’t we start with that then?” John asked, flipping into his Sheriff persona, coming back toward Scott and Melissa, lowering himself onto the end of the couch where his son lay.

Scott closed his eyes, bringing forward everything from his mental file, and he decided to start with the stuff he’d learned most recently “He learned to cook after his mom died. He did it out of necessity, because I think he was worried that mom would get suspicious.” Melissa drew in a sharp breath, remembering when she’d started seeing real food, simple food, but still real food all the same, start to reappear in the Stilinski fridge and cupboards after Claudia’s passing.

“Where did he get the money?” Melissa asked, and John shrugged, making a note on an empty legal pad he’d taken from the folder.

“He’s the one who makes my awesome birthday cakes, mom. The ones I dragged you around town looking for,” Scott added that because he thought it might be better to talk about the good things and the bad things together.

“Of course,” breathed Melissa, smiling fondly at Stiles.

“I’m assuming that’s how he knew how to do everything else before I did,” commented Scott, “Laundry and cleaning.” John was quiet as Scott spoke, but he could feel the man’s grief, thick, heavy like a blanket except it was almost suffocating, not comforting.

“He said it taught him discipline. How to look after himself. He’s proud of it,” Scott continued. He paused for a moment, thinking back to lacrosse that day, “Boyd said he had scratches on his arms today.” Melissa went up on her knees to look, inspecting the healing cuts.

“They’re recent,” she murmured.

“They’re not self-inflicted, at least not in the normal way,” John spoke then, “When I came home on Friday, Stiles was clutching a picture frame. He held it so tightly it broke.”

“You cleaned and bandaged them?” Melissa asked. He nodded. “You did a good job.”

“He’s been looking after them since then,” John dismissed the credit, turning his attention back to Scott, “He told me that he doesn’t,” the Sheriff seemed to struggle for words, “harm himself that way. It’s smaller stuff, fingernails in his palms, tugging on his hair. That’s why he’s keeping it short.”

Scott whined a bit at hearing that his friend was hurting himself, surprisingly, John reached out a hand to cover the one Scott had on Stiles’ chest. Somehow, despite his anger at the man the contact quieted Scott’s wolf. He still loved John, the man was like his second father, Scott realized and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that at the moment. The Sheriff removed his hand after a moment, settling it instead on Stiles’ ankle. Absently, he began to undo his son’s shoes, gently taking them off of his feet to make his prone figure more comfortable. Melissa and Scott could both see both the hesitancy and the tenderness in John’s actions, it made them both settle a bit.

“What else, Scott?”

“His fingers, he was flicking off his fingers, he earlier and he did it yesterday, in the jeep.”

“What for?” Melissa inquired, confused.

“To see whether he was in a dream or not,” replied John, “Claudia used to do it too, in the early stages of the disease.”

“He sees six fingers if he’s in a dream,” Scott told the Sheriff, who nodded and made another note on his legal pad, “He’s also having nightmares. I don’t know what they’re about though. And he doesn’t believe it when people say they believe him. The word ‘believe’ actually triggers him.”

John nodded, “I noticed that when Derek was here on Saturday.”

“I think that’s what I’ve got so far, well, except for the fact that he was so willing to forgive me for everything as if what I’d done, how I’d hurt him didn’t matter,” Scott stated, “I don’t know when he started thinking he didn’t matter.”

“What about you, John? What do you know?” Melissa asked, aiming to keep her tone professional but she knew it came out like a plea. She needed to know and understand, because the boy in front of her needed them and they needed him to keep their worlds on their axis’.


	24. Settle Down to Sleep, Tomorrow is a New Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melissa and the Sheriff chat. Melissa and Scott make a promise to the Sheriff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf

John knew more than Scott, but it wasn’t near enough for the trio to feel like any of them had a handle on how Stiles was feeling. Once he outlined what Stiles had revealed, unknowingly, after consuming the antidote the room was quiet. They’d been talking for hours, and at some point during that time Stiles’ body had slipped from unconsciousness into sleep.

“Earlier, you called him Mica,” Scott recalled, “So, that’s his name?”

John shook his head, “It’s a short form of his name.”

“You know,” Scott commented quietly, “I always just took it as Stiles. Face value and all, and he never told me differently. I can’t believe we’ve been friends for practically a decade and I don’t know his real name.”

“It’s precious to him. Claudia gave it to him. I’m surprised he has even been letting me call him Mica given recent circumstances.”

Scott tried to fight off a yawn, but didn’t succeed. “I think we should sleep,” Melissa stated to the room at large, “There’s too much ground to cover in one night.” Scott wanted to protest, but the Sheriff returned his hand to cover Scott’s briefly, “Your mom’s right, kid.”

“I want to stay here” Scott pleaded with his mom who nodded.

Melissa stood up and stretched “I wouldn’t mind staying to check in on him in the morning.” It wasn’t so much a request as it was Melissa telling John how the next phase of this intervention would unfold. He nodded, a willing participant in any plan that would keep Stiles safe and cared for. “You’re more than welcome to take my room, Mel” John told his friend as they walked upstairs, John in search of a blanket and pillow for Scott who’d rejected moving from the couch.

Unbidden, Melissa giggled a bit drunk on the lateness of the hour and the adrenaline from earlier. At her laugh, John blushed, and huffed out an embarrassed sound “I meant I’ll probably be staying downstairs with Scott so if you…”

Melissa smiled softly, and put out a hand to touch John’s cheek “It’ll be okay, John.”

John stepped back out of her reach, looking down, grabbing two blankets from the linen closet when Melissa darted forward to add a third to his pile. “I’m not leaving you, any of you. I’m sorry, for earlier.”

John took the third blanket without comment, and just walked over to Stiles’ room to grab some pillows. Melissa followed him into his son’s room, attention drawn to the well-ordered binders lined up on Stiles’ desk. “Well, you shouldn’t be sorry. You were right,” John’s voice was gruff as Melissa turned around to see him standing by his son’s bed, pillows in a pile, blankets in his arms. He pulled the blankets closer like he could infuse them with the love and affection Stiles had been missing. Tears gathered in his eyes.   
“Not in the way I was asking, John” Melissa argued, voice calm.

“I don’t remember it. Isn’t that worse?”

Melissa paused, standing at John’s side but unsure if offering comfort was the right move. Suddenly, John’s head turned, locking eyes with Melissa “You’ve got to promise me, Mel. If you ever think something’s happening again, you take him away from me. Promise me.” John looked so earnest, so desperate Melissa nodded “I promise, John.” Then she pulled her friend into a hug, “He loves you, John. It will all be okay; he will be okay. We’ll get through this.”

Eventually, the two adults returned downstairs, Scott already having stretched out on the ground next to the couch, eyes watching them approach. The teen gave no acknowledgement of having heard their conversation, but when John handed him a pillow, he murmured softly, “I promise too. But only if it’s the only option.”

John settled into his armchair, while Melissa curled up on loveseat, and soon all four people in the Stilinski house were asleep.


	25. Dammit Stiles!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is a sneaky son of a bitch. He avoids Scott at school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.

Melissa woke up first, sunlight streaming in from windows that she was sure were not part of her house. Then she blinked and remembered that she was at John’s house, because of Stiles. Her eyes snapped to the couch only to find it empty. Her son was asleep on the floor, and John was sleeping too, although the Sheriff’s sleep appeared restless. Telling herself not to panic, that Stiles could be upstairs having a shower or changing his clothes despite no sounds from the second floor giving credence to her theory, she got up and headed to the kitchen. That was when she started to curse “Dammit Stiles!” Her exclamation woke up John, and Scott, both of them made their way quickly to her side.

Scott knew exactly what had made his mom’s scent sour from hope to frustration with a hint of despair. The coffee pot was turned on, it had been pre-set for 6:30am, and the scent of fresh coffee wafted over his senses. There was also a kettle, that Scott would bet money on was full of water, along with a box of his mom’s favourite tea set out on the counter with a bottle of honey and a spoon. There was also a covered plate with muffins on it. The scents of pistachio, blueberry, and cinnamon raisin reached his nose. A note was tucked in next to the baked goods.

“Left early for some extra lacrosse practise. Got tutoring tonight with Callie. Be home late tonight.” read out Melissa. She then flipped it over, passing it wordlessly to John.

I love you, Dad. Be safe.

Six words. Six words that could bring John Stilinski to his knees, and they almost did. Scott almost shoved the man into a chair to avoid him crumpling on the ground.

“He knows I’m working late tonight,” John shook his head, “He’s going to avoid this, isn’t he?”  
“For as long as possible,” muttered Scott, pissed at himself for not noticing Stiles leaving that morning.

“Who’s he tutoring?” Melissa asked, as she set about making her morning tea.

“Callie,” John said the name, brow furrowing, “Deputy Stick’s kid is named Caroline. I’ll ask him.” John pushed himself away from the table, reaching out for his phone as he did, and called in to the station. He quickly switched his late shift with Deputy Connors, who told him he was doing her a favour, and then headed upstairs to get ready for work.

Scott made sure the man took a muffin and thermos of coffee before he left. The teen felt oddly comforted by the clap on the shoulder the Sheriff gave him, even though he was still angry Scott could see that they were only going to be able to help Stiles if they worked together.

Melissa drove Scott to school before heading to work, both of them scanning the parking lot for Stiles’ jeep and letting out matching breaths of relief. Scott hadn’t been sure until that moment that Stiles hadn’t just run off although he knew that his friend would never really leave his dad or the pack high and dry like that he had been irrationally afraid all the same.

Stiles had apparently come up with a plan of action to avoid Scott all day though, and it was working. By the time Scott appeared in the cafeteria for lunch he was a ball of frustration and in need of comfort. Surprisingly, Isaac slid in beside him, while Boyd and Erica sat across from him. Their presence helped calm him somewhat, “Is Stiles okay?” Erica questioned him without preamble, “He has been avoiding us all morning.”

“He’s… angry at me,” Scott replied, Isaac bumped their shoulders together, eyebrows raised, asking silently if Scott’s suspicions had panned out. Scott shook his head. It wasn’t exactly what he had feared. Isaac let out a sigh of relief.

“What did you do?” Erica pressed.

“Leave it,” a new voice entered into the conversation, Lydia taking the open spot on the other side of Scott, “He’s with Allison in the library talking about something Argent related. He doesn’t want to be disturbed or discussed behind his back, probably.”

The young woman’s words made Erica’s eyes narrow briefly, then she nodded and struck up a conversation with Lydia about a new album that had dropped the week before. Isaac flipped open a book, and Boyd just listened to Erica without adding his opinion. Scott ate in silence, but the feeling of family and pack that surrounded him helped keep him grounded.


	26. Safety, Love, and Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sheriff and Melissa attend their first pack meeting. John gets to see his kid in action as part of the pack.
> 
> Also, the other, less friendly Argents are coming to town and Deaton is the pack's only option. Stiles doesn't like it.
> 
> Derek trusts Stiles. Surprisingly, Stiles also trusts Derek.
> 
> Stiles also has a bit of a breakdown in front of his dad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf

A knock sounded at John’s office door, and he looked up from the case he was reviewing to wave in the deputy and gesture for him to close the door behind him.  
“What’s up, Sheriff? Jerry said you wanted to talk to me,” Deputy Adam Sticks shuffled a bit in the office, unsure of why he’d been called in to see his boss.

“It’s about Stiles, Adam,” John said, closing the case in front of him “Feel free to sit down and stop panicking.”

With a laugh Adam did just that. “What’s up with the kid?”

“Has he been tutoring your daughter?” Adam’s eyebrows rose.

“Yeah, for about two years now,” Adam replied.

“How’s she doing?”

“Much better since Stiles started helping her. Honestly, she’s talking about maybe taking science courses in high school, which is something she has been afraid of since she was younger. He really built up her confidence.”

John smiled, “I’m glad.”

Adam looked at his boss, glanced out at the bullpen, and then seemed to make a decision, “You didn’t know did you, about Stiles helping Callie?”

John shook his head.

“Look, Sheriff this job, it gets crazy. Sometimes the only way I can stay on top of what’s going on in Callie’s life is because Jake leaves me like mini briefings to read after I get back from shifts. You can’t be too hard on yourself.”

“It’s not so much that I don’t stay on top of things, Adam. I think it’s more that I don’t see the things right in front of me,” replied John in a moment of candor.

“If there’s anything I can do for you, either of you. Let me know. I’m working at paying better attention too, if it helps. Jerry made that phone call to McCall last week while Jess and I were in the conference room and I get the feeling there’s more going on than we” he gestured to the station “know, but we’re here for you guys.”

“When you say you’re working at paying better attention…”

Adam bit his lip, “I may have been too quick to believe Stiles that he had other things to do every time I asked him to stay for dinner or just to talk.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Adam,” John told his deputy.

“I’m not going to wallow in guilt, Sheriff. I’m set on the future, and making things better,” Adam paused, “You should be looking forward too.”

“Thanks for the insight, Deputy,” John dismissed Adam, with a smile and a nod.  
\---  
The Sheriff’s hope to see Stiles alone after he finished tutoring Callie was blown to pieces when he received a text from Derek as he walked out to his cruiser, intent on picking Stiles up from Adam’s house.

The text was an address, one John recognized as Derek’s loft. The message was curt, ‘Pack meeting tonight at 7pm.’ Another one came in moments later ‘Stiles is here already.’

John drew in a deep breath and let it out. Then he dialled Melissa who answered with “Are you going to the pack meeting?”

John huffed “Yeah, Stiles is there,” he paused, “Want a ride?”

“Sure, I’m at home.”

“I’ll be there soon.”  
\---  
The two adults pulled up at the loft, “Have you ever been here before?” Melissa asked John as they made their way into the building’s elevator.

John shook his head; Melissa let out a breath “Neither have I.”

“It’s a nicer building than I thought it would be,” Melissa said as they approached the loft door.

“That would be Stiles’ doing,” commented a voice from behind them, and the duo turned to be confronted with the clearly undead Peter Hale.

Melissa looked unimpressed with the newcomer and John had to agree. He was still thinking about how this man had kidnapped his son. The Sheriff took a deep breath; he had to remember that this wolf, this man, had respected his son’s bodily integrity seemingly without cause or past precedent, that had to count for something.

“You don’t say,” John replied.

Peter’s lips curled into a smile that boarded on a smirk, “He was insistent that Derek and his puppies stop living in an abandoned train station. He also has a decent eye for real estate.”

John didn’t know what to make of the man’s comments but he knew they were grating on him, even if he wasn’t entirely sure why.

Before he had the chance to figure out how to respond the loft door opened to reveal Derek, and Stiles’ voice called out into the hall after him, “Stop hassling the good citizens of the world, zombiewolf!”

Derek smiled, fixing his uncle with an amused look, while Peter just shrugged and headed into the loft. “Melissa, John,” Derek greeted them both with a nod, “I apologize for my uncle. He tends to make getting under peoples’ skin a game at the worst of times.”

The loft was nothing like Melissa or John had expected. It was tastefully decorated, functional, but comfortable. “It’s nice,” Melissa commented, surprise evident in her voice.

“That’s all Lydia and Stiles. They work fast,” Derek commented.

“But you’ve been living here for,”

“Several months, and we had the basics back then. Stiles wouldn’t stand for anything less, but Lydia’s adding touches of her own already.”

“Speaking of, where is…” John trailed off as he caught sight of Stiles, deep in conversation with Chris Argent, gesturing at a map spread out on a large table, standing next to a corkboard filled with papers, photos, and strings. Stiles looked so in control and in command; John had trouble reconciling the Stiles he’d held in his arms last night to the one standing in front of him, arguing with a highly trained hunter and seemingly more than holding his own.

“Hi Sheriff, Melissa,” Allison appeared from the kitchen and walked over to the little group, Peter having split off to sit at a chair by the island watching Chris and Stiles.

“Allison, good to see you,” John greeted her, as Melissa beckoned the girl in for a quick hug, which she seemed surprised by, but accepted happily.

“I hear you’re back with my son,” Melissa teased her lightly. Allison blushed, “Yeah, I think we sorted some things out.”

“I’m glad,” Melissa told her.

‘Can I get you something to drink?” Allison asked Melissa, “Derek’s keeping tabs on Stiles and Dad, so he wants to stay in closer proximity.” The two of them set off for the kitchen while Derek turned to look at John, “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you and Stiles, Melissa and Stiles, or hell, anyone and Stiles, but he knows that if he needs it he can always stay here. I am telling you this as a courtesy, John. He was all over the place emotionally when he got here this afternoon.”

John opened his mouth to explain, but Derek held up a hand, “I’m not asking for an explanation. If you want to give one, fine, but later. The rest of the pack are on their way up.”  
The Sheriff nodded, swallowing his pride and the flash of anger he’d felt at Derek’s words, because they made sense.

“If he does come here, we’ll let you know,” Peter interjected himself into the conversation quietly and smoothly. John hadn’t even noticed the wolf moving, “But Derek’s right, he needs to know he can come here if he needs to just be somewhere else. At least here we can watch him.”

“Thank you,” the words were hard to say, but John found it within himself to say them. He needed to say them.

John desperately wanted to go over to his son, even just to say hello, but then the rest of the pack came tumbling through the loft door. Stiles and Chris stopped talking, the hunter’s face thoughtful and the trace of a smirk on Stiles’ lips as if he’d gotten his way. John did not doubt he had.

It turned out that Victoria Argent was returning to town the next day, accompanied by her father-in-law, Gerard, a man even more psychotic than Kate who was apparently dying and intended to get his hands on the local Alpha to stop death in its tracks.

As Chris ran down the information he’d been able to glean from hacking into his wife’s phone records and her email the intention was to use Allison, as a pawn, willing or unwilling, to get Scott to turn on Derek and push the Alpha into a position that would leave him with no other option but to bite Gerard. And maybe had this plan been put into motion before Jackson had been cured, or before Lydia’s party and Scott and Stiles had still been on shaky ground the beta wolf knew that possibly he could have been seduced by a plan like this. Something that would allow him and Allison to be together, but there was so much more at risk now, including his pack. His pack, which included Allison. Scott wouldn’t let himself be swayed to selfish or stupid thinking now, not with everything at stake.

“Isn’t this more of a hunter problem though?” Isaac ventured to ask, after Chris gave them the run down, “Like Allison’s pack and we’ll protect her as such, but…”

Before either Chris or Derek could respond Stiles jumped in, “Allison’s involved, which makes this a pack problem. Also, the Argents headed into town aren’t likely to look too kindly on the strides the Hale pack is making towards actual stability.”

“But what can we do about it?” Scott asked, “I mean we can keep watch, and protect Allison but that won’t solve the problem.”

“No, it won’t, Scotty,” Stiles replied, he flicked his eyes over to Chris who rolled his eyes, but gestured for the teen to continue, “There are options though…” Peter opened his mouth and Stiles cut him off with a sharp, “Options that won’t require my jeep becoming a dumping ground for bodies, Peter. Focus, Creeperwolf.” Chris snorted, the rest of the pack looked confusedly at the older Argent.

“What?”

“He’s your father,” Melissa said, “And you just laughed at the idea of his death, don’t colour us wrongly confused.”

Chris took a deep breath “I don’t want to kill him, not really, but the man’s a bastard and in order for Allison and me to live our lives he needs to be out of the picture. Dead or behind bars are our only options.”

“And your wife?” John asked. Stiles looked at his dad for a moment, their eyes connecting, but then Stiles turned back to Chris.

“Most hunter marriages are arranged. They focus on stronger alliances, not unlike the ones packs used to use, but unlike packs they still arrange marriage alliances. My marriage was organized swiftly in reaction to my own attempt at following my heart and not my family's plans.” Peter glanced up at the elder Argent, eyes scrutinizing, but the other man did not return his gaze.

“She also threatened to kill me, so there goes my ability to trust and love her,” Allison stated, reaching out to grip her dad’s hand. Stiles looked at the Argents, a sad smile on his face.

“So, what are our options?” Lydia asked, to clear some of the emotion in the room.

“While I would rather take care of this myself, I have been persuaded that that option might be more than highly irresponsible given present company,” Chris nodded at John, as Stiles muttered, “Damn right.”

“We could of course, try to arrest them for a myriad of offenses they’ve committed, but”

“That would take too long,” Stiles interjected.

“So…” Chris dragged out.

“Dad! Remember, if it’s dramatic for no reason, don’t!” Allison reprimanded him.

John was struck by how jovial the assembled group was, even while discussing threats to their lives and he remembered feeling this type of camaraderie when he was in the Army. This was the type of humor and connection established by surviving near death experiences together. It was obvious that the fellowship was deepest amongst the three original betas, Scott, and Stiles, but John could almost feel it creeping at the edges of Allison and Lydia’s tones.

“We’re contacting the Council,” Stiles stated, his voice firm.  
“Through who, Deaton?” Peter inquired, intrigued.

Stiles nodded.

“You realize that you’re essentially declaring war on the rest of your family, right?” Derek asked, Allison and Chris, his tone firm.

“Yes,” Allison replied, “but if they were any kind of family we wouldn’t have to, would we?”

Derek had nothing to say to that.

“What is the Council?” Lydia asked, turning her eyes to Stiles.

“It’s a collection of magical and supernatural entities that help settle feuds within the community internationally.” Stiles replied.

“They also train agents to police trouble spots,” Peter commented, a thoughtful expression on his face as he looked at Stiles, the young man stared back, quirking an eyebrow in a silent query. Peter dismissed him and then picked up his train of thought, “They run by their own rules, but they won’t cause trouble for you, Sheriff.”

“I don’t really have much choice in this though, do I?” John shot back.

“You can meet with them, tell the agents what you will and will not tolerate here,” Stiles replied, still not looking at his dad, “But what they end up doing is up to them, I suppose.”

“You don’t seem thrilled with this option,” Lydia pointed out.

Stiles shrugged, “I’m not a fan of Deaton and his cryptic bullshit, but it’s what we’ve got.”

Derek titled his head, seemingly not happy that Stiles wasn’t fully on board with the plan, but he also seemed to see that it was their best option.

“Okay, so at school someone will always be with you, Ally, and when someone isn’t with you, please check in with us via text before you go anywhere,” Stiles said, looking apologetically at the huntress.

“It’s okay, Stiles,” Allison replied, “I know you wouldn’t propose this if you didn’t think it was necessary.”

Stiles smiled slightly at the young woman, as Scott squeezed Allison’s hand, reassuring her that they would all have her back too.

“Thank your dad, Ally, not me,” Stiles put up his hands to deflect the thanks onto Chris.  
The huntress didn’t fight him, but her narrowed gaze told him she wouldn’t let it go.

Derek cleared his throat, and then went about ending the official part of the pack meeting. Everyone started splitting off, Peter heading to the kitchen with Stiles in tow, talking quietly.

Chris looked like he was going to follow the duo, then stopped and turned to say something to Derek, although his eyes kept flicking to the kitchen. Derek pretended not to notice and answered Chris’ questions as best he could. Isaac, Boyd, and Erica settled more comfortably on the couch and turned on the television, Boyd switching the channel to a home decorating show that caught Lydia’s attention. Allison rolled her eyes, and said something to Scott that made the teen laugh.

Melissa sat watching Scott out of the corner of her eye, while John stood, unsure of what to do or where to go. He wanted to go find Stiles and talk to him, but eventually, he sat back down, eyes unseeing as he stared at the pack and the television.

After some time, it could have been ten minutes or thirty minutes, John wasn’t entirely sure, Derek sent Isaac off to get some food, Boyd and Erica going with him. Chris and Allison headed home, Chris offering to drop Melissa and Scott off, which the nurse and her son accepted. Which left John, Peter, Stiles, and Derek in the loft.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what they’re talking about?” John asked, trying to come off casual, but as Derek’s eyebrows drew together he knew he’d come across as desperate.

“It’s not about Stiles, if that helps,” Derek said after a minute.

“Does he ever talk about himself?” John muttered.

“Sometimes,” Derek replied, quietly, and John looked up, the alpha blushing lightly as if he hadn’t meant to say that.

“Yeah?” John asked, unable to tease the alpha because of how desperate he was for information about his son.

Derek sat down heavily across from John, nodding, “Sometimes.”

“Do you know more words, Hale?” John said, a tinge of sarcasm in his tone.

“Not always, Peter’s the more talkative one really,” interjected Stiles’ voice as he appeared from the kitchen, Peter following him, but staying near the map table and corkboard. Stiles’ tone was casual, but the Sheriff knew his son was anxious; he didn’t need to be a wolf to read Stiles in this instance.

“Ready to go home?” Stiles asked his dad, scuffing his shoe on the ground.

“Are you?” John flipped the question back, surprising Stiles.

“Uh, yeah, yeah,” Stiles responded.

“Get home safe,” Peter called out.

“Think about what I said,” Stiles returned. The other wolf growled lowly, but Stiles only grinned. Nodding at Derek, who tossed Stiles his hoodie that had been lying over the back of the couch, “Thanks.”

“Stiles,” Derek spoke just as the teen went to open the loft door, John trying to keep himself out of Stiles’ blind spot, waiting behind his son, “this is our only option, right?”

Stiles turned back, and he looked so tired for a moment that John thought he might need to carry Stiles to the elevator.

“So far, yeah,” the teen responded, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“The pack will be safe, Stiles.”

Stiles nodded, “I know, alpha, I know. I trust you.” Then he turned and pulled open the loft door, heading to the elevator. He missed his father’s sharp intake of breath, because to Stiles trust, trust was worth more than love. It seemed that this was not lost on Derek, or even Peter, who was smiling, gently, if that was possible, at his nephew.

Then Peter pulled out his phone, to text something, when a second later the Sheriff’s phone vibrated. He checked it, to see a text from the older wolf: I’ll explain this later. John bit his lip, still not completely at ease with the wolf, but he nodded all the same.

“Dad, elevator.” Stiles’ voice called him out into the hallway and so he left, closing the loft door behind him.

He and Stiles filed into the elevator, and Stiles leaned his head back against the wall of the elevator, eyes closed. He looked so tired. John didn’t speak; he didn’t know what to say.

When they got to the car, Stiles buckled up, and closed his eyes again, seeming to try and recoup some energy. Still John didn’t speak. But eventually, Stiles did.

“I’m sorry I left without talking to you this morning,” Stiles started to speak suddenly, eyes still closed, fingers tapping an unknown rhythm on his thigh.

John wanted to protest, but decided to keep his mouth shut for once.  
“I’ll apologize to Melissa and Scott, tomorrow. Probably not in shape for it tonight,” his second sentence was a bit quieter. Then he paused, “I know, I know you asked me to be honest with you, to talk to you, I just,” John was so attuned to Stiles at that moment that he could hear the scratch of fingernails on denim. Deciding to screw it and pull over, John did so, and turned to look at Stiles who stayed in his seat, fingers flexing, forming and unforming a fist.

At this John didn’t hesitate, he reached over to grabbed Stiles’ closest wrist, gently prying Stiles’ nails from his palm, grimacing as he saw the half-moon crescents decorating Stiles’ pale skin.

“I just, don’t know where to start. There’s so much. And I don’t want to tell you, dad, I really, really don’t want to tell you. I’ve spent the past few months just hoping, hoping I could stop lying to you about Scott, about Derek, about all of this, but then I realized, all of this supernatural crap wasn’t the problem,” he laughed, hollowly, “Or not the only problem. I've been lying to you for so long... I hate it, for the record. But it kept you safe! I just want everyone to be okay, dad. I just wanted to keep you, safe. I don’t. I can’t be the one to find your body,” Stiles shook with dry sobs. He pulled his hand away from his father, breathing deeply, controlling his growing panic attack, “I’m not sorry, for helping and I’m going to keep doing it. I’m not sorry that I want to take care of people. I’m not!”

John didn’t know what to say, or how to respond, but he knew he had to try.

“Mica,” Stiles’ eyes squished tight as if the nickname pained him, “I’m not going to sideline you. We both know, you wouldn’t stay there even if I tried,” he wanted to laugh, but neither of them did, “I just want you to stop feeling like you need to lie to me. I’m not going to lie to you, I know I’ll learn stuff I don’t know. I know it’ll be painful. I want that, I want to go through whatever I need to in order to help you feel like you don’t have to carry the weight of your past on your shoulders alone.”

Then John, leaned over to run a gentle hand over his son’s forehead, and press a light kiss there, “You don’t need to prove yourself to me. You don’t need to respond right now. But, I will be here when you’re ready.”

Then John pulled back, and saw tears slip from Stiles’ closed eyes, squeezing his son’s hand briefly he attempted to provide comfort, then restarted the car and drove the rest of the way home.


	27. Just stay?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has all the passwords and the secrets. And he's exhausted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.

When they pulled into the driveway, John unlocked the cruiser doors and made his way over to Stiles’ door, ready to help support his son if need be, but Stiles stood under his own steam. He walked to the front door, unlocking it, and dropping his school bag by the shoe rack, neatly placing his shoes by the other pairs that were out. He then picked up his bag again taking it upstairs, and tucking it under his desk.

He was so tired. He wished it was the weekend so that he could sleep. But, even on Friday night there would be no guarantee of rest; the Argent clan was coming. The Council was coming. Deaton was going to figure him out, and he felt so scared and alone.

He couldn’t protect the pack right now, and he needed help.

He wanted to ask for help, but not yet. He couldn’t yet.

And then there was his dad. He felt liking punching a wall, but reigned himself in, property destruction wouldn’t make him feel better. He had broken down in front of his dad again, and he knew, he knew his dad would be watching him closer now. And part of him ached for that type of supervision and the safety that could come from actually indulging in his dad’s willingness to help and comfort him. He wanted to curl up in his dad’s arms and cry.

He wanted to tell him everything.

He wanted to tell him how it felt when he made his first batch of pancakes and he didn’t burn them.

He wanted to tell him about the night it had happened, when his dad hadn’t just broken things, but Stiles had ended up with a bruised cheek and back.

He wanted to tell him he forgave him already.

He wanted to tell him that his mom had known about him. About what he was.

He wanted to show his dad what he was learning.

He wanted his dad to tease him about Derek, because in another lifetime in Stiles’ mind his crush was returned, it was obvious, and the pack helped and hindered him in equal measure on his quest to win their alpha’s heart.

He wanted so much…

He felt the tears pricking at his eyes again. He had no idea how his body still had tears to cry.

He wanted his dad. He wanted his dad so badly. He wanted to be a child again, just for a moment with less responsibility and less blame heaped upon him.

John entered Stiles’ room slowly. He had called his son several times, but he had received no response.

Stiles was standing, swaying somewhat in front of his desk as he mumbled to himself, quick fingers running over the spines of the binders Melissa had noticed the other day. Stiles tugged one down, a gold binder that John noted as he got closer had not only his name, but his badge number along the side. Stiles passed it off to him, then headed to the bathroom with a sleep shirt and sweats.

As his son changed into more comfortable clothes, John sat down at Stiles’ desk to flip through his binder. Spreadsheets, budgets, lists, passwords, phone numbers, the information in the binder went on and on. Stiles re-emerged a few minutes later, quietly righting something in his wardrobe.

“Why do you have all of this, Mica?” John kept his voice calm, non-judgemental.

“We’re supposed to take care of each other,” Stiles murmured, as he folded something away in his wardrobe, then closed the door, “I couldn’t help if I didn’t know, so I learned.”

Stiles’ voice was deadened, fatigued.

“What do you want, Mica?”

“Too much.”

“Name it.”

Stiles smiled at his dad, “The funny thing is you’re completely serious. But, I can’t, dad.”

“What can you do? What can I do?”

“Just, just, stay… please?” The way Stiles phrased it John could hear the resignation in his voice. The assumption that he would once again be left out in the cold.

Instead of speaking, John went over to sit on the edge of Stiles’ bed, “I’ll stay.”

“At least for today,” murmured Stiles as he sank onto the bed, John folding the covers up over his son.

“For as long as you want me to, Mischief.”

Stiles slept, his father beside him, watching over him. John remembered when Claudia had come home from the hospital with Stiles and he had watched his son sleep, just like this. Every night that he could he watched over the young boy who was his whole world.


	28. What has he done for us?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' lies are unraveling now. They are unspooling and he doesn't even know it yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf

Stiles woke up alone. Until he wasn’t, at some point between waking and finding his way out of the bundle of blankets his dad had wrapped around him his dad appeared. John gently helped Stiles extract himself from the softness and warmth of the cocoon he’d built for his son.

When Stiles was no longer in danger of tripping on a blanket, the teen stood up fixing his dad, who sat on his bed, with at least three different blankets piled next to him, with a confused expression. John wanted comment on how puppy like he looked, but he wasn’t sure if he was able to tease Stiles yet. Instead he replied to the unasked question “You were cold.”  
Stiles nodded as if that made sense to him. “I’m usually cold,” he replied, “Which is stupid, because we live in California.”

“Come on, Mica, get dressed; I’ll make you hot chocolate, even if you don’t eat you’ll have had something.”

Stiles hummed, a light coming to his eyes, “Thanks, dad.” John hugged him then, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Stiles didn’t realize until he he’d pulled on his clothes for the day, that his father had said something along the lines of “even if you don’t eat.” He wondered if that was a one off comment, or if his dad had noticed him either skipping meals or eating large amounts in an attempt to stave off hunger for a day or so.

He shook off his questions, they’d be answered eventually.  
School was tense. Victoria dropped Allison off, and she practically ran into Scott’s arms once she’d arrived in the hallway. Stiles took one look at the couple, and dragged his best friend and his girlfriend off to his secret spot in the library. “Take care of her,” he told Scott, passing the wolf a chocolate bar, a cream soda, and a trashy supernatural romance book, “Try reading to her, do voices.” Then Stiles was off, covering for his missing friends in class, playing up the class clown aspect of his persona, the pack feeding off of his energy and helping whenever possible.

By lunch, Allison’s eyes were dry, and she and Scott showed up at their table. Allison swooped in and gave Stiles a tight hug, whispering “Thank you” before kissing him on the cheek.

Stiles blushed, but did his awkward finger gun gesture to diffuse the tension. To his delight, Allison shot him finger guns back. That would definitely become their thing.

Then the huntress began to brief the pack. Stiles took notes on his phone, updating Melissa, his dad, Derek, and Peter via a group email before the bell for afternoon classes rang.

“When do these Council people get to town?” Lydia asked, as she walked beside Stiles, her arm looped through Allison’s as they made their way to French.

“Soon,” Stiles replied, “That’s what Deaton said.”

He was suddenly glad that none of the other wolves shared this particular language class with them, because his heartbeat would have given him away in a moment.  
\--- ------- ------------------ -----------------

Victoria Argent was scoping out the woods, her father-in-law, slower behind her, trying to locate the Hale house. They had unfinished business after all.

“You are aware that you’re trespassing, aren’t you?” called out a voice, startling both hunters, who levelled guns at the man who appeared between the trees.

“If we’re trespassing then so are you,” growled out Victoria, cocking her gun, “Might as well start taking care of the pest problem in Beacon Hills.”

Another sound reached her ears, as she levelled the gun at the man.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” another voice, female this time, came from behind them.

Gerard turned, drew back his own gun and fired at the ethereal woman standing in front of his.

“You really are troublesome, aren’t you?” The woman snapped her fingers and Gerard froze, choking. Victoria didn’t drop her stance though, hunters valued the hunt over anything else.

Another snap though reduced Gerard to ash. That was when Victoria decided to turn tail and run, so to speak, except she had forgotten about the man, whose eyes gleamed green in the afternoon light of the preserve. He leapt at her and before she could even cry out she no longer had a throat. Next came her heart. Then the woman snapped her fingers again, ashes sinking into the ground.

“And now?” the woman asked her companion.

“Now, we go met him.”

\-------- ----------- ---------------- ---------------------------

When Allison rushed to her dad’s SUV afterschool he told her that her mother and grandfather were missing. She looked confused.

“But, Deaton said a few days…”

“I know,” replied Chris.

“But I’m starting to think they didn’t come, because of Deaton.”

“Then who? Who would contact the council for us?”

Chris shrugged, “I have some ideas,” he told her as he pulled into the parking lot below the Hale lofts.

Allison followed him without question as they strode up the stairs, towards Derek’s loft.

“He’s not in,” a voice greeted them as they exited the parking garage, Peter was heading toward the stairs too “But you’re welcome to wait for him.” Peter unlocked the loft door.

“What is he?” Chris asked, rounding on Peter the second they were inside.

“I don’t know,” Chris looked disbelieving.

“While I’m flattered by your faith in me and my intelligence, Christopher, I am telling you the truth.”

“They don’t do things like this for free, Peter!”

Allison watched them volley words back and forth, confusion evident on her face.

“Don’t you think I know that? I told him to be careful, to think!”

“You care about him,” Chris stated, almost accusatorily.

“Much like I care for the rest of my nephew’s ragtag pack. Yes, I care, because he’s important to Derek,” Allison drew in a breath of understanding, they were talking about Stiles, “He’s important to the integrity of this pack!”

“What has he done, Peter? What has he done for us?”

Peter just shook his head, and Allison felt a chill of fear sweep over her.


	29. Well Met, Spark Stilinski.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not much angst, just some plot filler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf

Allison’s eyes darted from Peter to her father, a question plain on her face. To her surprise, it was Peter who answered her unasked questions. His voice was calming, gentle even, which was completely at odds with the cultivated, sarcastic mask he usually wore.

“Stiles, he’s something, powerful. I think, at least. Can you call the rest of the pack, Allison? They should be here for this.”

Allison nodded, flashing the werewolf a quick smile before turning away and dialling Lydia’s number, “Lydia? It’s me. Yeah, I’m safe, but listen, Peter thinks there’s something up with Stiles; we’re at the loft.”

As she shot a text off to Scott, Allison heard her dad step closer to Peter, “I hope I’m wrong, but somehow I don’t think we’re going to be that lucky.” Peter’s voice sounded shaky, and Chris put out a hand as if to comfort the other man, but then paused, unsure if the comfort would be welcome. It was Peter that made the decision to step forward just a smidge, and Chris gripped the other man’s arm tightly, grounding him, “He’ll be okay, Peter. He will,” Chris paused, “Our pack’s not going to let him down.”

Peter’s eyes snapped up to meet Chris’ and it was at that moment that Derek entered the loft, followed by John and Melissa.

“We’re happy to have you, Chris,” Derek spoke casually, a teasing lilt to his voice as he winked at his uncle who rolled his eyes at his nephew and went to step back from Chris. The hunter kept his arm out though, and just nodded at the Alpha, dipping his head in acknowledgment of the man’s new position in his life.

“As glad as I am that you’ve decided to openly become pack, why are you here?” Derek’s eyes flicked between Chris and Allison, confused.

“They’re gone.”

“Who?” John jumped in, worry in his voice.

“Victoria and Gerard,” Chris replied, “They should have been back by now, but I don’t think they’re coming back.”

“But Stiles said the council would take a few days, right?” Melissa asked, confusion in her voice.

“Normally, yes, but I don’t think we’re dealing with normal at the moment,” Chris told her, turning to look at John he asked, “Where is Stiles right now?”

John’s eyes narrowed, “If you think my kid…”

Before he could go any further Peter jumped in, pulling himself from Chris’ grip to stand in front of the hunter and his daughter, “No one is suggesting that Stiles killed them, Sheriff,” and John visibly deflated, “But we think, we think he knows more about this council business than he’s letting on.”

“What do you mean?” Derek’s voice was sharp and curious.

“Where is he? I can’t go into it if he’s not here to verify anything,” Peter told his nephew, hoping that Derek caught onto how serious this was. Luckily, he did.

“He said he was going to Scott’s,” John said, stomach turning as Allison shook her head at him.

“Scott’s with everyone else, they’re coming here. He told me Stiles said he needed to head home to meet you.”

“Dammit, Stiles!” John growled under his breath, but every werewolf in the vicinity heard him, which included the rest of the pack as they piled through the open door.

“What’s wrong?” Isaac asked everyone, immediately picking up on the tension in the room, “Where’s Stiles?”

“We don’t know. But Victoria and Gerard are missing,” Peter told the group, “We should go see Deaton, he’s the one who was contacting the council anyways. Maybe I’m worried for nothing.”

No one believed him, not even himself.   
\---  
Stiles was waiting in the clearing, pulling his hoodie sleeves over his hands, willing the chill in the air to keep away from him. He’d slipped away from the pack armed with a hunch, his bat, and well, himself. He’d only been waiting for about fifteen minutes when he heard a branch crack behind him.

Instead of turning around he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, “Elemental Greene, it is an honour. Welcome to Beacon Hills.” Another presence pressed at his mind, “Priestess Kay, a pleasure, welcome to Beacon Hills.”

He sensed the figures walk over to stand in front of him, but he did not open his eyes yet, hoping with all he had that he hadn’t just signed a death warrant for his pack.

“Well met, Spark Stilinski.”

At those words a ‘woosh’ of air escaped, unbidden, from his lungs. Stiles’ eyes opened to find himself facing to very seemingly amused beings who regarded him with something like fondness and sadness in their eyes.

“Uh, you can call me Stiles,” he blurted out forgetting formality for a moment.

The man only chuckled at him, “Then it is only fair that you call me, Graham.” Stiles raised his eyebrows at him, “The Prince of the California vampire collective is named Graham?”

“Indeed,” Graham’s lips curled up in a smile, baring his fangs to the young man who dipped his head in acknowledgement of the other man’s status.

“And you may call me Lera,” interjected the woman, shaking her head at her companion.

Stiles nodded to her as well and then his manner turned businesslike, “So, what do I owe you?”

“It is more of the question of what we owe you, Stiles. Let us talk for awhile, shall we?”


	30. Spirit Forms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claudia Stilinski is here? What?! Oh, and the nogitsune drops in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.
> 
> Okay, so this series took a turn in my mind and it might seem random but I've got a plan for this, I swear.
> 
> Also, I haven't seen season 3 yet so I've taken liberties with the Oni and the nogitsune.

Deaton was on edge the moment the entire Hale pack showed up at the clinic, but he kept his stoic mask in place.

‘What can I do for you?” he asked Derek.

“The council,” Derek started to speak.

“These things are delicate, Derek,” the man continued as Peter grumbled under his breath as the druid neglected use of his nephew’s proper title. Surprisingly, Scott grumbled right along with him, “The council doesn’t just send people out; there is procedure that needs to be followed. I’ve only made my first attempt at contacting them.”

At those words, Peter’s spine straightened, “You haven’t spoken to anyone yet?”

Deaton looked at him as if he was stupid, “No, of course not. That’s not how these things work, Hale.”

“Hey,” it was Allison who spoke up, “You don’t have to be so rude.”

Deaton looked at her critically, then his eyes jumped from Chris to Peter so quickly only the werewolves caught it.

“Be that as it may, I ask you all to be patient. I’ll contact them again soon.”

“When?” Derek pressed.

“Soon.”

“And what is your definition of soon?” Isaac drawled, unimpressed with the vet, “Before the new year? Or you know before our graduation from high school?” He gestured to the rest of the pack.

“Soon. Now, please leave, I have other things to do tonight.”

As soon as they were outside the clinic the pack turned to Derek, “Well, that raised some red flags,” the alpha commented as the pack grouped up around their cars. Derek ran his hands through his hair, “I keep feeling like there’s something we’re missing and Deaton’s part of it. It’s like we’ve forgotten something important,” he murmured almost to himself.

“Oh, thank god,” came Chris’ voice, “I thought I was the only one.”

“You too?” Peter asked the two men, who nodded, “Anyone else?”

John’s shoulders tensed, “Sheriff?”

“I’m not sure, what this has to do with finding Stiles,” he replied, deflecting.

“Wait, maybe,” Derek closed his eyes focusing in on his pack bond to the young human. It was fragile and newly born, as both of them had fought it for different reasons for awhile, “He’s in the preserve and he’s not alone. I can feel magic near him.”

With a worried glance that passed around the group like the wave at a hockey game everyone split off to their cars in pursuit of Stiles and whatever mess he’d gotten himself into this time.

\--  
Stiles wasn’t in a mess. It was the very opposite of a mess actually. He found himself sitting in a large clearing with a high priestess and vampire elemental prince who were trying to explain something to him without being interrupted.

“So, you knew my mom?”

Graham nodded.

“She trained with us,” Lera added, “She wanted us to train you together.” Sadness descended upon the group briefly.

“Train? Like learn water-bending and stuff? Can I even do that?” Stiles managed to find a question within himself to distract from his grief.

Lera giggled, “Yes, you most certainly will be able to ‘bend’ the elements, and so much more.”

“Awesome!” Stiles said, then his grin slipped off his face, “But my family, my pack, I can’t… I’d have to leave them, right?”

Lera nodded. “It is important to train in an environment free from distractions,” Graham said quietly.

“I can’t, I can’t. I won’t leave them!” Stiles voice was firm as it rang out in the clearing.

“Stiles,” Graham spoke again, trying to reason with the teen when all three of them paused, the two beings listening to the sound of approaching vehicles, “Stiles, we’re not asking you to leave right now. There’s still something here that we need to tackle, but eventually, you’ll have to, if only to better protect them. Do you understand?”

There was no time for an answer as the werewolves barrelled into the clearing, only in partial shift, followed by the humans who were armed.

“Oh, they put on a show, don’t they?” Lera commented.

Stiles put up his hands, “Guys, it’s okay. They’re… friendly.”

The wolves heard a jump in his heartbeat.

“I can’t say they’re not dangerous alright? but they won’t hurt us,” his heart stayed steady and the wolves shifted back as the humans settled their weapons down, except for the Sheriff. He was scowling at Lera, “You, who the hell are you?” he yelled, a hint of fear and anger wrapping around his words.

“Dad, it’s okay,” Stiles walked over to him, but John couldn’t look away from the woman, he knew her from somewhere. He recognized her from Claudia’s drawings, the ones she’d done in the hospital! This woman was always wrapped around his wife, turning her to ashes.

John knew that this woman whatever she was, whoever she was, Claudia had known her and he didn’t like it.

“Stiles, step away from them,” John ordered his son, praying that he would just listen and obey this time.

“Sheriff,” this time it was Derek’s voice, it sounded, awed… John chanced a brief check on the alpha only to see him motion for him to lower his gun. John gripped it tighter.

Stiles stepped in between his father and the woman. John loosened his grip immediately, “Stiles!”

“I know, mom used to draw them. They’re not here to hurt us. They took care of Victoria and Gerard. Dad, you need to trust me on this.” John slowly lowered the gun, flicking the safety on, and only then did Stiles walk over to him. He was enveloped in a tight hug from his father.

“I’m…” before the word okay could even leave his mouth Scott glommed onto his back and hugged him.

“Don’t say that,” Scott huffed out as he squeezed harder.

Stiles wisely only chose to respond with “Scotty, can’t breathe. Human, remember?”

Scott jumped back and Stiles stepped away from his dad brushing his arms off.

“How’d you find me?” he asked.

“No. No questions until you answer ours,” John interjected, tension and a desire to pull Stiles back to him still strong.

“Allow us to introduce ourselves, Sheriff and Alpha Hale,” they both inclined their heads to Derek and John in turn, “I am Elemental Greene,” and “I am Priestess Kay” each of them introduced themselves. Peter drew in a sharp breath “You’re from the Council, but we just left Deaton’s and he said…”

“Deaton, I am not familiar with this being,” Lera interrupted.

“He’s a druid,” Stiles told her.

A light of understanding appeared in Graham’s eyes “Clau never liked him.”

John shifted, tension still thrumming in his body. The whole pack sensed it, even the humans.

“To answer your original question, we’re here as a favour to Stiles.”

“At what cost?” Chris ground out.

“We owe him,” Graham replied.

“You don’t have a heartbeat,” Peter growled.

“Well, considering he’s a vampire, that makes sense,” Stiles commented, casually.

“Those are real?” Lydia asked, letting her desire for knowledge to overwhelm her anxiety about the situation at the moment.

Stiles fixed her with a look “You realize you ran in here with werewolves right, Lyds?”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled slightly at Stiles. Somehow the teen’s relaxed body language was putting the rest of the pack at ease, even as they all still wanted to just surge in and protect him they stopped themselves from indulging in their instincts.

“How did you know my wife?” John’s question brought the tension back.

“They studied together,” Stiles answered, “Magic.”

“What?” John’s tone was incredulous.

“Mom,” Stiles’ voice caught he tried again, “Mom, she was a spark, Dad.”

“No, no way,” Peter jumped in shaking his head, “There is no way a spark lived here in Beacon Hills without any of us knowing,” he gestured to himself and Derek.

“We’re trying to figure that out too,” Lera told them.

“How did you contact, Stiles?” Derek asked.

“He called us. I might be a High Priestess, but I do have a phone.”

The whole pack looked at her, stunned, and then at Stiles. He shrugged “I like to research and I didn’t think Deaton cared about keeping Ally and Chris safe.”

“And what was your plan afterward?” Peter fixed the two beings with a glare that made them think he knew they’d wanted Stiles to leave with them.

“He’s not leaving with us, not yet” Graham told the wolf, putting up his hands. The whole pack, even the humans, growled at the implications of the vampire’s words.

“Not yet?” John ground out.

“No,” Stiles went to hush them, “I’m not going anywhere. I couldn’t leave you guys.” The ‘right now’ that wasn’t spoken hung in the air.

“It was what Claudia wanted,” Lera stated. Stiles glared at her and she shrugged “Your mom wanted you trained.”

“And I will be, but not now” Stiles’ tone was final; it brooked no argument from the high priestess or the vampire prince.

“In the pictures, the ones she drew, you didn’t exactly look like friends,” John’s words passed by gritted teeth.

“I’m not surprised. At the end, she hardly knew which way was up, am I correct?” Stiles took in a sharp breath at Lera’s seemingly callous words.

“She’d contacted us, but we didn’t connect and then when we called back it was too late.”

“We think someone did something to her,” Graham spoke earnestly, “which is why we came back. Here in particular,” he gestured at the clearing “Can’t you feel it?” he asked the wolves.

“The magic? The darkness? Just below the surface.”

The second the wolves put out their senses they encountered it, confused at how they hadn’t felt it before. The dark vines of something twined around the clearing, a large tree stump behind Graham and Lera appearing to be the source of it all.

“It’s called a Nemeton” Stiles said, then he blinked “I’m not sure how I knew that.”

Suddenly, the darkness intensified. The pack drew closer to Derek, the two Council members turning, standing between Stiles and the tree that was now radiating energy. Even the humans could see it.

“Now would be a great time for an explanation or you know, some mojo usage” Stiles quipped to Graham and Lera as everyone herded him into the centre of their group.

“They can’t protect you, Stiles” a voice entered his head, smooth and raspy.

Stiles jerked, stumbling backward, Scott catching him. “Did you hear that?” Scott looked at him, confusion and fear on his face.

“They won’t hear me, not until I want them to” the voice came again. Stiles whipped around, looking for the source of the voice in his head. John watched his son panic, apparently hearing things, which was just how it had started with Claudia.

“He already thinks he’s going to lose you” the voice took up residence in his mind, a grin in its tone “You’re hurting him, again” Stiles looked up at his dad, body shaking. He stepped back only to meet the circle of pack.

“We’ll hurt them, together. You might even be more fun than your mother was” the voice was almost loving now, sickly sweet.

“No,” Stiles shoved himself toward where Allison and Lydia were, breaking their part of the circle, moving away from the pack “Who are you?”

“She hated it. Screamed at me to stop. Not to hurt you. Poor mommy” the voice taunted him, but he could tell that now the pack could hear it too.

“Show yourself, spirit!” Lera called out into the approaching darkness.

“Figured it out yet, Priestess? She called you, but you didn’t come to save her. Yet how many times did she save your life?”

“Show yourself, I command you.”

“You think you can command me?” a sound like a wet chuckle came from the voice.

Lera’s eyes glowed to no avail. Then Graham took her hand, together their eyes glowed, but nothing appeared. Graham’s face fell.

“Ah, the vampire knows, don’t you Elemental?”

A burst of air rushed around the clearing, trying to draw the creature out.

“Coward!” roared out Derek.

“Oh, Alpha, I’m not afraid. It’s you who should be afraid.”

Finally, something emerged from the trees behind the stump, wrapped in rags and bandages.

“Nogitsune,” it was Chris who breathed the name.

“Good, hunter. Well done.” The voice from the creature, the nogitsune sounded amused “How wonderful to have you all here, without her to ruin it for me.”

“What are you talking about?” Stiles spat out, still keeping himself from the pack while they all angled themselves toward him.

“She protected you, dear boy. All of you. She sacrificed herself for you… all of you.”

“You know, I’m getting really damn tired of the wrong people blaming themselves for my death,” a new voice rang out, strong and familiar to Stiles and John.

A woman emerged from the actual tree stump, a black cloak rippling out behind her, her long brown hair streaming down her back, and hazel eyes that flashed. “Step away from my son.”

“I wondered, what it would take to get you to waste your wish, your chance down here” the creature turned, to face the form of Claudia Stilinski “But you see, you’re still alone.”

Claudia smirked then “That’s where you’re wrong, fox. I never go anywhere without my pack.”

Shapes rippled throughout the clearing, encircling the pack, forms solidifying as Peter and Derek spotted Talia, then Robert, her mate. Derek’s sisters and brothers appeared around them. Cousins, aunts, uncles. The Hale pack came into being around them. Laura stood directly in front of Derek. The wolves shifted, growling at the fox demon who actually appeared shocked for all of two seconds.

“Still bringing death and pain to the people around you, Claudia?” Its question rang hollow and clear.

“Not planning on it, no.”

The demon took a step toward Stiles then, but Claudia appeared in front of him, shielding him.

“Back away from him.”

The demon put out a hand. Claudia laughed harshly. “I’m dead, you can’t control me anymore. That’s the only real perk of this.”

“I might not be able to reach you,” but something, a dark swarm of something streamed from the thing’s mouth heading to Stiles. But Claudia’s eyes flashed silver, then purple, and a barrier of what looked like lightning encircled him.

“He can already hear me,” the demon taunted her “It’s too late.”

The current pack couldn’t move from where the forms of the dead Hale pack were keeping them, growls intensifying as warriors, dressed in black garb and masks emerged from the trees.

“It’s too late. You’re too late, Claudia.”

She noticed the warriors too, but a quick glance between her and Talia helped her understand that they could handle it. Then the warriors attacked. The spirit Hale pack engaged, ferociously, keeping the current pack safe. Derek and his pack found themselves bound to their spots by a barrier, similar to the one around Stiles.

“I don’t think so,” growled Claudia.

“Mischief, do you trust me?” the voice inside his head made him jerk back in surprise, but touching the barrier didn’t hurt him thankfully.

Despite his confusion Stiles nodded.

His barrier dropped, as did the one surrounding the pack. Lera and Graham tore across the grass to get to Claudia and Stiles, but before they could reach him the woman had turned and grabbed her son’s shoulders.

“I love you and I’m sorry” she whispered, then she glowed brightly, brighter than the sun. She drew light from Stiles. The act itself took only a heartbeat, but it drained her son. Brushing her lips over his forehead, as Lera and Graham caught the young teen, Claudia turned to the demon and a burst of pure light enveloped it. It glowed, even brighter than Claudia had, and then suddenly screamed. Its bandages and rags disappeared, replaced with “Stiles!” John yelled, unable to see his son with Lera and Graham just behind the Nemeton. Instead, he saw his son’s limp body on the ground being tortured by his mother.

“Stop! Claudia, stop!” he yelled, anguish in his voice. Derek roared at her, moving forward to disrupt her. Talia stepped in front of him, after tearing through the final warrior whose bodies littered the clearing.

Then the body changed to John.

Claudia continued to pour energy and magic into her casting.

The body became Talia.

Everyone stopped to watch.

“Never enough to save them,” the voice came again, but it was weak.

“Just strong enough to cause a little mischief, I think” growled out Claudia and another pulse of energy shot forward. The demon disintegrated and a shockwave of heat and sound rippled through the clearing, levelling everyone.


End file.
